The Handcuffing of Kurt Hummel
by K8Malloy
Summary: A/U. Most of the time, people were charmed by Deputy Sheriff Blaine Anderson, even while receiving a well-deserved traffic ticket. Of course, Kurt Hummel wasn't 'most people'. How long will it take before Kurt finds himself in handcuffs - with Deputy Anderson holding the key?
1. Where Kurt Breaks the Law

_**A/N:** _I have a deep appreciation for those 5 times/ 1 time stories I've read ... this is my own spin on that genre. _ The Handcuffing of Kurt Hummel_ is five chapters & I'll be posting once a week.

_**Disclaimer: **__I do not own Glee or its characters. _

* * *

**_Chapter 1: Where Kurt Breaks the Law_**

_-Early September-_

Deputy Blaine Anderson had worked swing shift – 1700 hrs to 0300 – for almost five years. At 32, he had enough seniority with the Allen County Sheriff's Office to be able to put in – and get – his most desired shift. For Blaine, that meant working his 40 hours, Tuesday through Friday, on the third shift.

At his age, even though he was still young, working midnights no longer held any appeal and day shift was usually filled with deputies looking to be visible for promotion purposes, or the older and married deputies who desired a more traditional schedule so they could be home with their families during the evenings and weekends.

Blaine wasn't looking for a promotion, though many had told him they thought he'd make a strong sergeant, and he wasn't married – or even dating anyone – so swing swift was his match. He enjoyed having an actual weekend where he could meet up with friends, watch football or hockey, and run errands. And Mondays off meant he could almost always make an appointment without a conflict. Or pick up overtime when a holiday fell on a Monday and someone wanted time off with his or her family.

Everyone in the patrol division knew Blaine would shift trade if it involved someone's kids, although few had ever broken down his walls enough to learn that it came from his own upbringing with caring, but absentee parents. The one time his father actually took time off to chaperone a field trip in second grade – it stuck with him; If Blaine could give that kind of memory to another child by trading a shift – he'd do it in less than a heartbeat.

Of course his family, and most of his friends, had thought he was certifiably insane for switching his major while in college. But sometime between starting freshman year and the middle of his sophomore year, Blaine realized the classes that most interested him were criminal studies and psychology. He graduated with honors and a double major and quickly signed up for the Allen County police academy. He never looked back.

Law enforcement fit Blaine like a glove. Every day was different and Blaine took a deep sense of personal satisfaction knowing he was making his community just that much safer. Yes, there were days he went home convinced that the entire world was screwed up beyond any hope of redemption. But talking with any one of his friends, Wes, David, Nick, Jeff or Sebastian, usually helped reassure him that it didn't matter what profession a person ended up pursuing, everyone had days where the prevailing opinion was 'People Suck'.

Most of the time, most of the people, were charmed by Deputy Anderson, even while receiving a well-deserved traffic ticket.

Of course, Kurt Hummel wasn't 'most people'.

Deputy Anderson quite likely would have ignored the fact that the silver Lexus with New York plates was exceeding the speed limit by approximately ten miles an hour. It was, in fact, fairly late in the evening, closing in on midnight and the road they were traveling on was a more rural highway that connected Lima to other nearby villages. Plus, in all honesty, the driver was within the allotted 'safe speed' per department policy.

However, when the Lexus pulled to a stop in front of the lowered flashing gates in front of the railroad tracks and then proceeded to drive around them – ignoring the dangers in this action – Blaine became angry. People like this never saw the impact, literally, of their actions. They never saw the twisted metal, the blood and gore.

Unfortunately, Blaine had. More than once. And this driver had just earned himself a ticket and a stern warning. Flipping the switch to activate his siren and flashing lights, Blaine checked carefully for an oncoming train before proceeding after the idiot out-of-state driver.

"Control. Three Paul Twenty-One," he radioed to dispatch.

"Three Paul Twenty-One, go ahead," came the immediate response.

"11-95. Cleveland Highway, west of the railroad tracks. 10-29. Break."

"Go ahead, Three Paul Twenty-One."

"New York plate. Lincoln Lincoln Boy One Two Nine William. LLB129W."

"10-4."

Climbing out of his dark colored cruiser, Blaine positioned the spot light so it would provide the necessary light to keep him safe. Leaving the door open, he strode over to driver's side door of the Lexus, shining his flashlight into the car's interior, carefully looking for anything that might be used as a weapon or anything illegal but in plain sight. Once that was done, he looked into the driver's face and felt his heart skip a beat.

He was the single most attractive man Blaine had ever met.

Swallowing around his suddenly dry throat, he asked automatically, "May I have your license, vehicle registration, and proof of insurance?"

"Yeah … yeah, I … just let me find it, officer," came the reply. The driver leaned over to the glove compartment, fishing around for a while before coming up with the appropriate piece of paper. "Here you go," he said as he pressed the paperwork into Blaine's hands while staring numbly straight ahead.

"I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere," Blaine instructed.

"Wasn't planning on it," grumbled the man.

Shaking his head, Blaine walked back to his cruiser and sat in the driver's seat, door open, looking at the computer monitor that would alert him to any wants or warrants issued for the driver. Keying the radio on his shoulder, Blaine was all business.

"Control. Three Paul Twenty-One."

"Three Paul Twenty-One, go ahead."

"I have the driver's information when you're ready, over."

"Standing by, Three Paul Twenty-One"

"New York DL. Last of Hummel. Henry. Union. Mary. Mary. Edward. Lincoln. First of Kurt. King. Union. Robert. Tom."

"10-4. Do you need units to fill?"

"Negative. Code Four."

"Three Paul Twenty-One. Your subject comes back with no wants, no warrants. Registration current and valid."

"Thank you, Control."

Pulling out his ticket book, Blaine began filling in the required information to write up - Mr. Kurt Hummel – for violating Vehicle Codes 22348 and 22451 [a][1][b]. When his neat script filled all the appropriate boxes, Blaine climbed back out of his cruiser.

Standing back at the window, he watched as the driver hurriedly placed his cell phone in the drink holder. "Here's your license, registration and insurance card back, sir. I've written you a ticket for excessive speed and,"

"Wait, what?" interrupted the driver. "Speeding?"

"Yes, sir. I clocked you doing 65 miles per hour. This portion of the highway is zoned at 55."

"Isn't that a bit … picky? I mean, it's not like anyone was out here," the driver complained.

Blaine took a breath, refusing to be pulled into an argument over the 'letter of the law' versus the 'spirit of the law'. "_I _was out here. And in all honesty, I would have let you off with a warning, if you had agreed to slow down. But when you made the choice to drive around the railroad gate, putting your life, and the lives of others in danger, it was no longer a case of 'officer discretion'. The second violation listed is for that."

Trying to hand the driver his ticket book, Blaine continued, "I need you to sign at the bottom. Your signature is not an admission of guilt. You are simply acknowledging you will appear at court on the date you are summoned. Also, since you're not from Ohio, you should know that the summons will be sent to the address on your driver's license. You will still need to contact the court to make arrangements to clear the ticket."

The driver's eyes narrowed as he accepted Blaine's pen. "What would happen if I didn't contact the court? Hypothetically of course," he sniped.

Blaine looked back towards his cruiser, not wanting to roll his eyes in front of the driver. "The judge will issue a bench warrant. That warrant will be entered into a national system. The next time you get pulled over, regardless of what state you happen to be driving in, you will be pulled from your car, handcuffed and searched before being taken to jail, until such time as you can pay the amount of the warrant.

"Damn. Not how I prefer to be handcuffed," Mr. Hummel muttered under his breath as he scribbled a signature across the ticket. Handing the pen back, he leaned forward to read Blaine's silver name tag. "Tell me, Officer Anderson, what would happen if I went to the court and claimed I felt harassed by the officer who issued the ticket because of my minority status?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Hummel, I didn't understand the subtext to your question," Blaine answered cautiously.

"I'm gay. What would happen if I went to court to complain-" he stopped when the officer burst out laughing. "I don't see what's so amusing."

Blaine couldn't wipe away the smirk from his face as he stared hard at the asshole in front of him. "_Honey_, I'd _love_ to see you go to court here and try _that_."

Kurt's eyes narrowed. "**Don't** call me honey. And as crazy hard as it was to grow up here in Lima because of the narrow minded idiots around me, I _know_ things have changed."

Leaning down, Blaine let his gaze soften. "Things _have_ changed, Mr. Hummel. I sincerely apologize for calling you honey. That _was_ inappropriate and if you would like to report that to my supervisor, I can provide you with the phone number or you can just call the non-emergency number for the Allen County Sherriff Department."

"That's not necessary," Kurt admitted quietly.

"I laughed because any judge in Allen County would be thoroughly confused why I would be harassing someone for _being_ gay. Seeing as how I'm gay. And out. And no one cares. Things have changed, Mr. Hummel. For the better."

Seeing the look of chagrin on Kurt's face, Blaine decided to press a bit further. "Look, the thing is, you put your life in danger by driving around that warning gate. It's my job, my sworn duty, to protect and serve. I'd say I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but I'm not."

"Okay, but it's just me. Just my life," Kurt argued quietly.

"Do you want to end your life?" Blaine asked, concerned that perhaps Kurt's maneuver indicated a deeper problem with depression.

"NO!" Kurt answered emphatically. "No, I'm just exhausted. Like so exhausted that you can't even see exhaustion from where I am. I checked carefully before going around. I just want to get back to my apartment before getting up for work again tomorrow morning."

"Look, Kurt – can I call you Kurt?" Seeing Kurt nod, Blaine continued. "It's not just your life. The train conductor. Anyone on board that train. The paramedics. The firefighters. All those people's lives were put in danger because of your actions."

"You've never had to work an accident scene. You don't know what it's like to see that. You have family here in Lima? How do you think they would have felt to have me show up on their doorstep to inform them your body was down at the County Morgue? All because you didn't want to wait two minutes for the gates to raise?"

Kurt felt light-headed at the thought of his dad receiving that kind of news. "Fuck, I didn't think," he whispered to himself. "I get it, Officer Anderson." Chewing on his lip, he wiped his face hard, trying to wake up just a bit more. "Thank you – for making me consider more than just my own selfish ass."

"You're welcome."

"It is a nice ass, by the way," Kurt added flirtatiously.

Blaine held out his hands in the universal sign of submission. "I…"

"You were thinking it."

Pursing his lips, Blaine knew he was flushing from the sudden shift of attention. "Do you need an escort?"

Kurt's eyes grew wide, "Excuse me?"

"An escort home … what did you think I meant?" Blaine was perplexed by Kurt's reaction to his offer.

"An escort. Paid accompaniment with a happy ending," replied an incredulous Kurt.

Blaine's eyes became as wide as saucers before he pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's **so** not what I meant. You said you were tired. I'd like to make sure you got home safely. I could follow you."

Giggling quietly, Kurt shook his head. "It's ten minutes down the road. I'll be fine. Although I give you credit for such a creative approach to finding out where a guy lives. Can't say that I've ever had a cop try to pick me up before." He casually allowed his gaze to drift over Blaine's uniformed body. "Can't say that I mind, Officer Anderson."

"I'm not trying to pick you up," Blaine protested.

"Oh. That's entirely my loss then," Kurt said, clearly more than a little disappointed.

"It's just … I … I'm on duty. I don't. I can't." Blaine's mind was all aflutter with the possibility that Kurt might be interested in seeing him again. It prevented him from forming a more coherent response. "I've kept you long enough."

"So I'm free to go?"

"Yes."

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Officer Anderson. Hope to see you around."

Starting his engine, Kurt disengaged the parking brake and put the car into drive. Leaning out the window, he winked at the handsome officer. "Maybe not under the same circumstances, but I definitely wouldn't mind seeing you in that uniform with those handcuffs … somewhere private."

With a wave he was off, leaving Blaine confused and very turned on.

"Control, Three Paul Twenty-One. 10-8."

"Three Paul Twenty-One, 10-4."

* * *

Kurt Hummel's return to Lima, Ohio had been unexpected but, if he was completely honest with himself, not entirely unwelcome. Fifteen years had passed in the blink of an eye – and the eighteen year old senior who dreamed of escaping to New York City and taking the Broadway stage by storm, had slowly morphed into a confident man who combined his love of theater and his love of fashion into an award-winning career in costume design.

But when Finn called in the middle of the night three weeks ago, everything that seemed important, suddenly, well, wasn't.

Burt's health had taken an unexpected turn for the worse and while he was stable for the moment, Finn explained that the doctors at the hospital had insisted that Burt remove sources of stress from his life – forcing their gruff father into an earlier than anticipated retirement.

Which left Kurt and Finn to decide what would become of Hummel Tires and Lube.

Neither one of them felt comfortable selling the business outright. But Finn, who taught music and P.E. at McKinley High School, could only balance the office work associated with running a small business during his evenings and weekends – time he usually spent lesson planning, grading papers, and coaching. When he'd admitted to Kurt that he was scared he would make a mistake with worker's compensation or paying the business taxes that would cost them thousands of dollars, Kurt's decision came in four simple words, "I'm moving back, Finn."

He'd given notice to everyone who needed to know he was leaving New York, packed up and shipped his things home to his dad's house, had a tearful farewell dinner with his very good friends, and climbed in his car to make the very long drive home.

Home.

Lima, Ohio.

Who would have thought?

He'd spent three days at his dad and Carole's house before finding a decent sized two bedroom apartment to rent. Finn, Noah and Jake Puckerman had spent an afternoon moving Kurt's possessions and unpacking, after which they ordered take-out, watched sports on television and talked about how much had changed, and how much had stayed the same in Lima, Ohio.

It was late afternoon as Kurt sat across from Finn at The Lima Bean going over staffing schedules for the next month. Sitting close together, heads nearly touching, Kurt pulled up the appropriate spreadsheets on his laptop. "What do you think?" he asked. "Did I miss anything?"

Finn chewed on his lower lip as he read over the information that Kurt had been able to quickly organize into understandable bits. If it had been left to Finn, he knew he'd still be pulling out his hair trying to figure out how to rotate the twelve employees.

Sighing, Finn shook his head. "Nope, not really. Just, Kenny's kid started soccer last week and Kenny is coaching. He needs to be off by four on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Dad had already okayed that before…well before."

Pursing his lips, Kurt's fingers flew across the keyboard making a few swift changes. "How about now?"

"Yeah," Finn nodded, his face brightening, "yeah, I think that'll work. God, Kurt, I don't know how you did that so quickly. Thanks so much."

Kurt snorted quietly, "I've managed to track multiple costume changes with multiple costume pieces for multiple actors. This is cake. Anything else that needs our immediate attention?"

Finn looked towards the ceiling, thinking. "You said you'd run the invoices this weekend while I'm taking care of inventory. So I think that's it. The bookkeeper and accountant are meeting with us next Tuesday night after the shop closes. Other than that, I'd say we're good."

Shutting his laptop, Kurt slid it into his satchel and stood up. "Okay then. We still on for dinner Friday night?"

"Dude, of course," Finn said incredulously. "Can you pick up some wine? You'll know better than I will what my mom would like."

Smiling affectionately, Kurt nodded. "No problem, Finn." Opening his arms, he gave Finn a long hug. "Love you," he added quietly.

"Love you too, Kurt."

Finn waved at his brother from the door as Kurt rejoined the line of customers for a refill. He was running through a mental list of things he needed to accomplish in the next few weeks, attempting to prioritize them when the sound of a throat clearing drew his attention.

Golden honey eyes, chocolate curls, and a dark blue uniform. Looking at Officer Anderson literally made Kurt's mouth water – in all the best ways. Without permission, his mouth pulled up in a flirtatious smirk. "Officer Anderson," he drawled, allowing his gaze to wander slowly over the shorter man's athletic form.

Holding out his hand, Blaine fought to keep the friendly grin from widening. "Blaine," he offered. "I'm impressed you remember my name, Kurt Hummel."

Shaking hands, .Kurt chuckled softly. "You wrote it on the ticket."

Blaine felt himself deflate just a bit. "Oh."

Reaching his hand up, Kurt traced the points on the silver badge Blaine wore on his uniform. "Don't take it like that," he said softly. "I would have remembered. You cut quite the striking figure in your uniform."

Shrugging, Blaine motioned to Kurt that the line had moved forward a bit. "Come to The Lima Bean often?" he asked.

"All the time when I was in high school," Kurt replied. "Now that I've moved back, I decided to try it again. Still a decent cup of coffee. Not what I'd be buying if I was still in New York, but I can't complain."

Blaine's eyebrows rose at the mention of New York. "Wow, you were living in New York?"

"Since I was eighteen," Kurt nodded. "Things here were … tough. I just really needed to get away to somewhere where people would … appreciate me – for being me. I was lucky enough to be accepted to Parsons and my dad totally supported my decision to go." Wordlessly, Kurt tugged Blaine's elbow so the officer would stand next to him in line, instead of behind him.

"Kurt, can I – hold on a sec," Blaine cocked his head to the side, causing Kurt to realize he was wearing an ear piece. Keying the radio attached to his shoulder, Blaine said, "Control, 10-4. I'm 10-7 at The Lima Bean. Does he need fill?"

A moment later, he said, "10-4, Control." Glancing back at Kurt, Blaine shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry."

"Everything alright?" asked Kurt

"For now. Um, so I was going to ask you – if it's not too personal, why'd you move back to Lima?"

Kurt sighed heavily.

"Look, Kurt, I'm sorry. Forget I asked," Blaine backtracked quickly.

"No. No, it's fine. It's my dad. He's having issues with his health and I need to be here right now. My stepmom is taking care of him and still working full time, so my brother Finn and I said we'd handle running his tire business for the duration."

They took two more steps forward before Blaine asked quietly, "So was that your brother you were with earlier?"

"How long have you been here, Officer Anderson," Kurt asked with a teasing lilt.

Cheeks flushing pink, Blaine cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I came out of the restroom and might have noticed you hugging another guy."

Kurt pursed his lips, letting Blaine know that he knew Blaine had been checking him out. "Would you be disappointed if it was someone I was seeing?"

Blaine searched Kurt's eyes for a very long time. Finally he said, "It's not any of my business who you … date. Or hug."

"That's not what I asked, Officer Anderson," Kurt dropped his voice to a whisper.

They were interrupted by the barista. "Good afternoon, gentlemen. Sir, what can I get you today?" she asked Kurt, sliding a large coffee across the counter towards Blaine.

"Nice service, Officer Anderson. I'll take a grande pumpkin chai latte. No water and no whip, please," Kurt replied. Turning to Blaine, he saw the faraway look that meant Blaine was listening to the dispatcher, his wallet in hand. Suddenly Blaine's expression hardened. "Control, Code 3 fill in four," he barked. Throwing a ten dollar bill on the counter he began running for the door.

"Blaine?" called Kurt.

"Gotta go. That's for our coffee." Shoving the door open, Blaine glanced back. "Hummel? Yes. Yes I would be," he blurted before dashing out to his patrol car. Moments later, siren blaring and lights flashing, Blaine flew out of the parking lot.

"That's unfortunate," lamented the barista.

"What's unfortunate?" asked Kurt.

"He didn't get a chance take his coffee."

Kurt reached out and put his fingers on the lid. "I think I'll take that with me," he said. "Maybe I can track him down."

The young girl smiled at Kurt. "He takes it with two raw sugar packets and cinnamon sprinkled on top. Won't let us do it for him."

"Thanks. Keep the change."

* * *

Dropping down into the driver's seat of his patrol car, Blaine closed his eyes, trying to settle his nerves. His beat partner had initiated a car stop that had seemed routine at first. Until it wasn't.

By the time Blaine arrived, Dave Karofsky – Three Paul Twenty-Three – had two suspects spread-eagled on the ground at gunpoint with two more passengers in the backseat. One at a time, Blaine ordered the last two passengers out of the car and down on the ground. They had three of the suspects handcuffed and in the backs of their patrol cars when the fourth decided to fight Blaine.

It had been over almost as soon as it started.

Blaine hadn't stopped boxing since he'd taken it up sophomore year of high school, and since deciding on law enforcement as a career, he'd added several different martial arts. Through other people's eyes he might appear on the shorter side and slight, but he knew how to handle himself.

Unfortunately, John Q. I'm-Being-Arrested-For-Assaulting-A-Cop assumed otherwise.

Well, maybe now he'd remember what they say about assuming.

Other units had arrived, and the arrestees had been transferred to other cruisers for their journey to county jail. Blaine had declined EMT treatment. What he needed was a couple extra-strength Tylenol, some ice, and some caffeine.

Sitting up straight, Blaine turned on the engine of the cruiser and put it in drive. Looking over at his computer he realized there was a cup of coffee sitting in the cup holder. Except he knew he didn't leave The Lima Bean with coffee.

Turning on the overhead light, Blaine picked up the coffee cautiously, spinning the cup in his hands. A piece of paper fluttered into his lap, so he put the coffee down and unfolded the note.

_Forget something? You looked after me the other night – this is me returning the favor. Hope it's not too cold by the time you find it. Until we meet again, stay safe. – Kurt _

_P.S. That __was__ my brother._

Just that simply, Blaine's night got a whole lot brighter.

* * *

_**End Note**_: The Allen County Sheriff's Office is a real entity and should have some jurisdiction over Lima, Ohio. However, the police procedure, 10-code, vehicle code violations and other law enforcement references are based on California law & a local police department I've worked closely with as a volunteer (in records, not as an officer).

Thank you for reading! Chapter 2 Teaser_: __Kurt's mouth pulled up on one side in a sexy smirk. His voice low and gravely, it was clear Kurt was exhausted. "Why am I not surprised that the officer who can't change a flat tire is you," he teased gently. Drifting towards Blaine's cruiser, illuminated by the lights of the tow truck, he added, "That, Officer Anderson, sir, is what we call Karma."_


	2. Where Kurt Learns When Blaine Gets Off

_**A/N:** i am happy to see I am not the only person who wouldn't mind seeing Blaine Anderson in a police uniform. More warm fuzzy flirtation - because don't we all need a little more of that in our lives? Thank you for taking the time to read and review and follow. Chapter 3 will be up sometime next week! (Promise...it's already written & ready to go)_

_**Disclaimer: **__I do not own Glee or its characters._

* * *

_-Late September-_

**20:17 hours**

"Son of a…" Blaine muttered under his breath as he pulled his patrol car to the side of the rural road, gravel pinging against the metal undercarriage. There was a dull thumping sound and he found himself fighting a vehicle that wanted to drift to the right.

After exiting the vehicle, Blaine walked around it slowly, using his MAG flashlight to perform a visual inspection. And there it was – front passenger side tire. Flat as a pancake.

"Control. Three Paul Twenty-One," he said coolly, into the radio on his shoulder.

"Three Paul Twenty-One, go ahead," came the dispatcher's voice. From the sound of it, Zizes was working swing shift too.

"Control, log me 10-18 indefinitely. Need a tow truck dispatched to my location to change a flat tire."

"Three Paul Twenty-One, 10-4. I have you 10-18. What's your 10-20?"

"Stand by, Control." Blaine slid back into his seat and pulled up the GPS map on his laptop before relaying his approximate location. Zizes let him know she'd reached the tow service with the County's contract and a truck was being dispatched. The estimate was just under an hour – given the time of night and Blaine's location - before anyone was on-scene.

Settling in for a long wait, Blaine snapped off the headlights and turned up the radio station, vaguely aware of the chatter between dispatch and the other officers working late this evening.

* * *

**21:03 hours**

"Control, Three Paul Twenty-One."

"Three Paul Twenty-One, go ahead."

"Control, tow truck is pulling up now."

"10-4, Three Paul Twenty-One."

After letting dispatch know the tow truck had finally arrived on scene, Blaine pushed the door to his patrol car open and stood, stretching out his back muscles. Moving towards the tow truck, Blaine intended to greet the driver. Instead, he stopped in his tracks.

It was him.

Graceful. Refined. Enticing. Even dressed in heavy linen coveralls. When Kurt Hummel lifted his gaze from the clipboard, Blaine jolted with the intensity of the connection they shared – even though they'd only really spoken twice. And one of those times he'd spent most of their interaction yelling at the New York transplant for his stupidity.

But now, standing alone in the dark on some dusty rural road outside of Lima, Blaine was certain that he wasn't making things up in his head. There was something between the two men and he wasn't the only one who felt it.

Kurt's mouth pulled up on one side in a sexy smirk. Voice low and gravely, it was clear Kurt was exhausted. "Why am I not surprised that the officer who can't change a flat tire is _you_," he teased gently. Drifting towards Blaine's cruiser, illuminated by the lights of the tow truck, he added, "That, _Officer Anderson_, sir, is what we call Karma."

Blaine rolled his eyes and moved closer, noting that Kurt had taken the time to apply cologne. Or had put some on for activities pursued earlier in the evening. Blaine's stomach tightened uncomfortably at the thought of Kurt being out with some other guy. "I _know_ how to change a flat tire," he protested with a growl.

"_Really_?" shot Kurt raising a perfect eyebrow. "Then care to explain why the hell I'm here right now? Or is this just some plan of yours where you run my name, find out where I work, then puncture your tire, all so I'd have to come out?" he asked drolly.

"Seems like a lot of effort just to see you again," blurted Blaine. Seeing Kurt's flinch at his words, Blaine tried desperately to backtrack. "No, I … I didn't mean that I didn't want to see you again or that you're not worth the effort." Suddenly, despite the cool evening, he was burning up under his Kevlar vest. He'd not been this affected by a guy since high school.

Kurt's eyes studied the tire as he waved off Blaine's comment, "_Whatever_, Officer Anderson. I'll just do my job so you can go back to doing yours." Spinning, he walked back to the tow truck, hefting a large jack out of the back.

Very much aware of how his words had hurt Kurt, and how alone the two of them were in this rural area, Blaine moved behind Kurt and firmly tugged the jack from his hand, placing it on the ground. When Kurt turned, Blaine stepped into his personal space, slowly backing the taller man into the side of the tow truck. Lifting his hand to cup Kurt's cheek, Blaine brushed his thumb lightly over the perfectly plump lips.

"First," Blaine rasped, before clearing his throat. "First of all, I'm not allowed to change a flat while on duty. It's a safety thing. Too many back injuries and officers going out on worker's comp. And," he looked deep into Kurt's eyes, "it would put me in a very vulnerable position. If you were a criminal. Which you aren't. But not all my … _clients_ … are like you. Some of them wouldn't think twice about putting a gun to my head and pulling the trigger."

Kurt inhaled sharply through his nose.

Blaine moved his hand from Kurt's cheek to run his fingers through the soft hair, pleased when he realized Kurt leaned into his touch. "Second, I pride myself on having integrity. We're not allowed to use our databases to look up personal information if it isn't case related. Period. So even if I met someone who I thought has an amazing sense of fashion-,"

"Coveralls shriek amazing fashion sense to you?" Kurt giggled.

"Um, no. Though clearly you had these tailored to fit your body. I've never seen anyone wear coveralls quite so well," Blaine commented, his gaze drifting down to Kurt's ass.

"Well, then how exactly do you know about my love of all things fashion?"

Hooking his thumbs into his utility belt, Blaine rocked backwards before he admitted, "That day I saw you at The Lima Bean. You had on fitted grey slacks, an almost criminally tight black button down shirt. Maroon and navy ascot. And a pewter pin. Beaver with a chain saw."

Kurt rested his arms on the bed of the tow truck. "Wow. You remember all of that? I'm impressed."

Shrugging, Blaine explained, "We're trained to spot and remember details. Sometimes … it's easier than others." He smiled shyly as Kurt swallowed visibly.

"So back to my point, I can't uphold the law if I break the law. I can't look up your address and phone number to find out if you're as interested in me as I am in you. And even if all I want to do right now is kiss you to see what you taste like … I can't … because of the uniform."

Eyes fluttering shut, Kurt nodded in understanding. "I guess I really should change your tire then." Looking into Blaine's eyes, Kurt gave him an honest smile before reaching out to rap his knuckles against Blaine's Kelvar vest. "Always wanted to do that," he admitted quietly, sliding sideways and grabbing the jack.

"How heavy is your vest anyways?" he asked curiously as he set about changing the patrol car's tire.

"'Little less than 5 pounds. The weight's not bad, it's the heat it traps. Summer's the worst. I end up changing my t-shirt four or five times a shift." Blaine bent down to hand Kurt the tools he needed, proving that he did, indeed, know how to change a tire.

Kurt's mouth went dry as images of a shirtless Officer Anderson crossed his mind. Keeping up a running conversation, Kurt kept asking Blaine about the various parts of his uniform and the doodads on his utility belt. Too soon he was tightening the last lug nut on the new tire. Standing, Kurt brushed the dust off of him. "You're set. We'll send the bill to the station. Um … let me give you my cell number, so if you have any more problems tonight, you can reach me directly."

Pressing his lips together, Blaine looked nervous. "You don't have to," he said quietly.

Wiping his hands on a rag, Kurt shrugged. "If you don't want my number …" he paused pointedly.

"I … I do … want your number," Blaine rushed. "I just didn't want you to feel pressured or obligated, or," taking a deep breath, Blaine let it out slowly, settling his nerves. "How about I shut up, before my mouth gets me in trouble again and just say 'thank you, Kurt. I'd love to have your number.'"

Handing over his cell phone, Blaine watched as Kurt typed in his information before handing it back. "Is this – is this the shop's number, or your dispatch service, or yours?"

"It's my number, Blaine." Kurt watched as a huge grin overtook Blaine's face. "What?" he asked.

"You used my first name," Blaine answered rather dumbly. Shaking off his daze, Blaine reached to key his shoulder radio. "Control. Three Paul Twenty-One. 10-8."

Kurt could hear the scratchy transmission back to Blaine. "Three Paul Twenty-One. 10-4. Please remind Hummel he owes me dinner at Breadstix."

"Affirmative, control." Blaine gave Kurt a curious look.

"Can you ask Lauren to call me?" Kurt asked.

"Control, please 10-21 Mr. Hummel to arrange that 10-25," he said.

"10-4, Three Paul Twenty-One. Three Paul Twenty-Five, please respond to a 415v Victor. Three Paul Twenty-One, Three Paul Twenty-Three, Three Sam One to fill. Address to follow. Break."

Blaine reached into a pocket on the front of his uniform and pulled out a small notepad where he quickly wrote down the address of his next call. "Control, Three Paul Twenty-One in 20." Glancing back at Kurt, Blaine smiled. "Thanks again."

Kurt waited as Blaine climbed into the cruiser and hit the headlights and his red and blue flashers. Striding over, he knocked on the window. Once Blaine had lowered it, Kurt leaned down, arms resting on the door. "You're welcome," he said. Then, not giving himself time to second-guess, Kurt leaned into the patrol car and kissed Officer Anderson.

What he'd intended to be a quick brushing of the lips, turned into a slow slide of lips and tongue. Reluctantly pulling back, Kurt smacked the back of his head on the window frame. Looking sheepish while rubbing the back of his head, he whispered, "Be safe, Officer Anderson. And make sure Blaine calls me."

Eyes dark with heat and desire, Blaine nodded. "Promise."

Stepping back, Kurt slapped the roof of the patrol cruiser twice and watched Blaine drive off into the night.

* * *

**To: Kurt [22:37]** Plans for Sat afternoon?

**To: Unknown [22:39]** Blaine?

**To: Kurt [22:41]** Sorry. Affirm. It's Blaine

**To: Blaine [22:43]** Watching Buckeyes w/ dad. Otherwise, no

**To: Kurt [22:54]** I get off 0300

**To: Blaine [22:54]** O.o

**To: Blaine [22:54]** ?

**To: Kurt [22:56]** NO! My shift ends 0300 if nothing too crazy happens

**To: Kurt [22:57]** Interested in an early b-fast b4 ftball?

**To: Kurt [22:57]** Or, I could go home, sleep 4 a bit. Ftball & then I take u 2 dinner

**To: Blaine [22:59]** Yes

**To: Kurt [23:04]** Um. There were options

**To: Blaine [23:08]** Want it all. Meet u 4 bfast & ftball w/ u&dad & l8r dinner. K?

**To: Blaine [23:20]** Blaine?

**To: Blaine [23:33]** Blaine, did I say something wrong?

**To: Blaine [23:37]** I'm sorry.

**To: Kurt [00: 05]** Busy. Talk soon. 3

* * *

A faint buzzing stirred Kurt from his dreams – dreams that included one Officer Blaine Anderson. Fumbling for his cell phone, he managed a gruff, "'ello?"

"I'm sorry about earlier," came Blaine's voice. "Problems of dating a cop. We tend to disappear without much explanation at times. That call I left you for – we thought we'd settled things down. Turns out, not so much."

Kurt cleared his throat and ran his hand over his face, trying to wake up a bit more. "Wait, go back a second. Are we dating now?"

"_Shit_."

"Chill, Blaine," chuckled Kurt. He could practically see the man beating himself up over his choice of words. "You did say 'problems of dating a cop' right?"

"Yes."

"Okay, just wanted to make sure I didn't dream that. Guess that means you need to officially take me out on a date. I vaguely remember something about breakfast. Dunno. Are you always this awake at two in the morning?" Rolling over, Kurt snuggled into his bed, phone cupped to his ear.

"Fuck … I'm so sorry, Kurt. I didn't think about the time. I'm such a douche. I didn't want you to worry because I wasn't getting back to you. I'll let you get back to sleep."

"Uh uh. Plans first. Sleep second. Yer done at a three?" asked a sleepy Kurt.

"Um, probably out of the station about four. I'm here now, writing a report. But if we're meeting for breakfast, I'd need to go home to shower and change. Would you be willing to meet me at 0500, at the Dish and Spoon?"

It took Kurt a moment to realize Blaine couldn't see him nod. "Yeah, that sounds good. When do you sleep?" He could hear Blaine typing something on a keyboard in the background before the officer laughed at his question.

"Usually 0600 to 1400. It's easier to work swing shift if I keep my schedule consistent. I checked. The game's on at 2. So after breakfast I could drop you off and go home to sleep until game time. Would that work?"

Reaching over to his alarm clock, Kurt set it for four in the morning. "How about this – and if I'm being out of line, well, I'll blame it on you waking me up so early. How 'bout you pick me up at 5? Then after breakfast, you can come back here, and we can sleep at my place before the game."

Blaine stopped typing, swallowing hard. "I … I wouldn't mind. But maybe," he hesitated for a moment. "Let's talk about this a breakfast, Kurt. If you change your mind, when you're more awake, I'll understand."

"You're sweet," sighed Kurt. "Sweet and sexy and you taste like coffee and cinnamon. You've been haunting my dreams for weeks now, Officer Anderson. And just once, I'd like to wake up to find you in my bed, instead of barely making it to the good stuff and then poof you're gone." Yawning loudly, Kurt closed his eyes. "Probably said too much."

"Hello? You've met me, King of Open Mouth, Insert Foot. Go to sleep, Kurt. I'll see you in a couple hours."

"Stay safe," murmured Kurt.

"Promise."

* * *

Over the course of their breakfast together, the star-filled darkness of the early morning had given way to a brilliant sunrise. Returning Kurt to his apartment building, Blaine, ever the gentlemen, guided Kurt to the door, the palm of his hand resting on the small of Kurt's back. Waiting for Kurt to pull the key out of his fitted jeans, he marveled out how the shirt Kurt wore precisely matched the blue of his eyes.

Running his fingers nervously through his curly hair as Kurt unlocked the door of his apartment, Blaine was forced to stifle a yawn. Giving Kurt a shy smile, Blaine offered, "Sorry, it's not you. I promise."

Kurt leaned against the door frame, smirking. "Little past your bedtime?"

"Something like that," Blaine admitted pushing his hands into the front of his jeans. "I … I'm really glad we got to have breakfast together, Kurt. Do you … do you still want to go out to dinner with me? I mean, it doesn't have to be tonight if you'd rather have the evening to yourself. I don't have other plans, but maybe you've reached your limit of '_Blaine'_ time. I know we said we would spend the day together, but,"

Extending a hand out, Kurt grasped Blaine's navy t-shirt, drawing him closer. Nudging Blaine's nose with his own, Kurt whispered, "You're doing it again."

"Sorry," Blaine sighed, looking past Kurt's shoulder down the empty hallway.

"Don't. I like that I have that effect on you." Kurt flicked the tip of his tongue across his dry lips, staring at Blaine's mouth. "Stay with me," he voiced roughly. Blaine's breath came out in a rush as Kurt leaned in to kiss him. Flicking the tip of his tongue along the seam of Blaine's mouth, Kurt relished the long groan that escaped Blaine.

Kurt curled his fingers around the buckle of Blaine's belt before tugging Blaine into his apartment and kicking the door shut. As he did so, Blaine wrapped his arms around Kurt's shoulders, and without breaking the kiss, positioned Kurt with his back against the door, pressing up against the taller man. Allowing Blaine to take control, Kurt whimpered as his wrists were drawn above his head, Blaine's fingers intertwining with the fingers of both his hands.

For several long minutes they mapped each other's mouths, jaws and necks before Blaine brought his forehead to rest against Kurt's, snaking his hands around Kurt's waist and into the back pockets of his pants.

"Ready for that nap, Officer Anderson?" purred Kurt, brushing his lips against Blaine's ear. Because they were still wrapped around each other, Kurt felt, rather than saw, Blaine tense at his words. Pulling back slowly, he stared into Blaine's dark golden eyes. "Did I say something wrong?" he asked quietly.

Blaine removed his hands from Kurt's pockets, resting them instead on Kurt's waist. Pressing his lips together, Blaine tried to prepare himself for disappointment. "Kurt, be honest. Are you … are you interested in _Blaine_ Anderson or _Officer_ Anderson?"

Looking puzzled, Kurt kissed Blaine's bottom lip softly. "I don't mean to be dense, but aren't you the _same_ person? Why are you asking?"

Sighing deeply, Blaine stepped back from Kurt and bent down to unlace his boots, toeing them off and lining them up with Kurt's other shoes next to the front door. "A few of the guys I've dated … it turns out they only wanted to date a cop – any cop – not me specifically." Standing up Blaine looked Kurt in the eye.

"The thing is - I'm not looking for casual – sex or otherwise. And if that's all you want from this – someone to dress up in a uniform and role play with handcuffs … then I should probably put my shoes back on and go home."

Chagrined, Kurt shook his head. "I owe you an apology if that's how I made you feel, Blaine. Granted, we haven't known each other long, but that … that was me teasing you. Flirting. And yes, I do want to get to know you better. Much better."

Reaching out, Kurt combed Blaine's curls with his fingers. "I want to know who Blaine Anderson is, what makes you tick … why you order the veggie omelet with a side of bacon, what you look like in the morning sunlight wearing nothing but my silk sheets, what the best book you've ever read is … why you chose to become a police officer, and what it's like to kiss you in the rain."

Blushing, Blaine took Kurt's hand in his. "Okay. I believe you."

"Let's go take our nap. Can't have you falling asleep during the game," Kurt teased. Turning, he led Blaine through the tiny family room to the small master bedroom. "It'll be a little cramped with the two of us. I ... I borrowed the guest bed from my dad's house."

Blaine studied the décor. The duvet cover and pillows on the bed were an alternating pattern of light and dark greys with a few jewel tone accent pillows in turquoise, plum and amber. Instead of photographs or pictures, Kurt had hung metallic art above the bed and above the dresser on the opposite wall. An accent table with a large green plant was tucked into a sunny corner.

Kurt went to the window and closed the coverings, significantly darkening the room. Moving to the bed, Kurt tossed the accent pillows into an empty laundry basket on the floor and pulled back the covers. Sitting on the edge of the double bed, he slipped off his shoes and socks, throwing them into the basket with the pillows. His pulse quickened when Blaine moved to stand in front of him.

Snaking his hands around Kurt's waist, Blaine rucked up the pale blue shirt, gliding his hands across the warm flesh he'd revealed. "As long as we're not sleeping in a twin, I'm good. Tried that a couple times in boarding school. It was a craptastic way to spend the night – not that sleep was what I was after."

Kurt's laughter filled the room. "Oh, I am _so_ looking forward to learning your secrets, Blaine Anderson. Boarding school? Bed sharing?"

"Unfortunately the teaser trailer is more interesting than the actual film. Um … clothed? Semi-clothed? How should we do this?" Blaine asked softly.

"How do you usually sleep?"

"Truth? Just sweatpants most of the time. Sometimes I get called in unexpectedly and it's a bitch to find yourself halfway to the door wearing nothing at all. I've driven to the station barefoot and wearing just my grey sweatpants more times than I care to count." Blaine slipped his hand into the open collar of Kurt's shirt, brushing his thumb over Kurt's collarbone.

"Fuck," breathed Kurt shakily.

"What?" asked Blaine, voice deepening at the intimacy of the moment.

"Just … the images. Inappropriate images dancing through my head."

Snorting, Blaine shoved Kurt playfully onto the bed, watching the lithe man scoot backwards until his back touched the pillows. Scrambling after Kurt, Blaine straddled his hips cautiously, watching for any sign of discomfort or objection. Kurt's hands curling around the backs of Blaine's thighs before moving upwards allayed any concerns he might have had about moving too quickly.

Dragging his t-shirt from his body, Blaine dumped it over the side of the bed before shyly fingering the buttons on Kurt's own shirt. "May I?"

"Yes, please," rasped Kurt, rising up on his elbows to kiss the hollow of Blaine's throat.

Fingers trembling from anticipation, Blaine had to concentrate on undoing each button, drawing the material down Kurt's shoulders and dropping it to the ground. Tracing random patterns onto Kurt's chest and stomach, Blaine admired Kurt's physique until Kurt looped an arm around his neck, pulling their bodies flush.

Gasping at the contact of their heated flesh, Blaine allowed the weight of his body to press Kurt into the mattress, as he brought his hands up to frame Kurt's face. "One more kiss," he whispered, nuzzling Kurt's neck. "One more kiss and then I really have to sleep."

"One more _for_ _now_," emphasized Kurt, his hands gliding over the smooth skin of Blaine's back as Blaine claimed his lips once again.

Too soon for both of them, Blaine ended the kiss, carefully rolling off of Kurt, slotting a leg between Kurt's. Eyes fluttering closed, Blaine slowed his breathing, naturally using techniques he'd learned on the firearms range. Although it had been some time since Blaine had shared a bed to sleep in, he found lying next to Kurt soothing.

Even so, after a few minutes, Blaine sighed in frustration. "I can't sleep with these jeans on," he complained, flopping over onto his back.

Kurt opened one eye and mumbled, "Take 'em off, then."

"Are you sure?"

In answer, Kurt stretched his hand over to Blaine's belt, unbuckling it while muttering, "Let me think." Lowering the zipper, he slid his hand inside Blaine's jeans, chuckling as Blaine shifted restlessly at his touch. "Yeah," Kurt continued, "I'm sure. I'm sure we can share a bed without wearing pants and actually sleep. Some asshole woke me up at two this morning and then I had to get up at four to get ready to meet him for breakfast. Need my beauty sleep."

Shucking his jeans off and kicking them to the end of the bed, Blaine assisted Kurt with the removal of his own jeans before pulling the blanket over them and snuggling back into his arms. "I hope that asshole makes it up to you," he teased quietly. "I hope he made breakfast worth it."

Caressing Blaine's cheek, Kurt sighed fondly. "He did."

"Good. And Kurt?"

"Yeah, Blaine?"

"You don't _need_ beauty sleep. You're pretty perfect the way you are."

Hands skimming sleepily over each other's bodies, both men felt themselves drifting off to sleep.

"Blaine?"

"Yeah, Kurt?

"Can a person be arrested for stealing someone's heart?"

Blaine snorted. "No. Not for that. Now go to sleep. The sooner you sleep, the sooner I can wake you up with kisses later."

"Mmmm. Like the sound of that."


	3. Where Kurt Has a Criminally Good Meal

_-Early December-_

Blaine drove. Everywhere they went together, if they took one car, Blaine drove. And surprising himself a little, Kurt was okay with that arrangement. He didn't mind the perspective from the passenger seat, seeing as it allowed him more time to ogle his entirely too attractive boyfriend.

Boyfriend. They'd made things official – to their friends and family – right before Thanksgiving. It amused Kurt to no small extent that his father and Blaine got along so well. So well, in fact, that Carole had shared that, on more than one occasion, Blaine had stopped by the house early into his shift, just to check up on Kurt's dad. Neither his father, nor Blaine had said anything about it, so Kurt was keeping mum that he knew. He chalked it up to Blaine Anderson escaping with one more piece of his heart.

The darkened residential street they were meandering down gave way to trees decorated with white lights and shops and restaurants. People dressed in warm coats, scarves and hats carefully dashed across the street, waving in gratitude at the cars that stopped to let them do so.

Blaine waited for two cars to pass before making a sharp left into a poorly marked driveway that led back behind a large building. There were a few parking spaces back here in the darkness, and Blaine took one.

"Are you sure it's safe back here?" Kurt asked.

Smiling, Blaine turned off the engine. "You know I'll keep you safe," he rasped just before connecting their lips in a slow kiss. All he wanted was to drag his fingers through Kurt's hair, mussing it up – but he knew, unequivocally, that his boyfriend would never forgive him – especially once he realized where they were eating tonight.

"When is our reservation?" murmured Kurt, very deliberate in the kisses he was placing along Blaine's slightly scruffy jaw line.

Glancing at the dashboard, Blaine sighed and moved back. "Now."

"Well, _Mr.-I'm-Highly-Trained-In-The-Art-Of-Observation_, I expect to find you repeating this scene in approximately two to two and a half hours. Got it?" Kurt ran his thumb over Blaine's lower lip until he nipped at Kurt's finger playfully.

"Oh, you'll get your make out session, Kurt Hummel. _I_ expect _I'll_ find _you_ wanting to thank your boyfriend … _repeatedly_ for the date he's planned out for you." Blaine held his hands up, palms out, making sexy know-it-all faces at Kurt until he couldn't keep the giggles contained any further. "Come on, Hummel. Let me show you a good time."

After they climbed out of the car, Blaine helped Kurt into his coat, then carefully wrapped Kurt's scarf around his neck for him. Kurt did the same for him, and then, linking fingers, they strolled around the building into a cobblestone courtyard. Here, too, the trees were bedecked in thousands of white lights, and six or seven heating lamps were strategically placed so the large crowd, sitting on wooden benches or standing, wouldn't become too cold in the night air.

Kurt lifted his gaze to a large wooden sign above the stairs that led down into the restaurant and stopped.

Mouth gaping, Kurt stared. "How?" he breathed. "How did you get reservations to _The Warbler's Song_? They book six months out."

Blaine played with Kurt's scarf, adjusting it to keep out the bitter chill. "I have connections. Besides, I owe you for missing most of Thanksgiving. That was an amazing spread you put together and I'm sorry your _asshole_ boyfriend couldn't attend longer than 30 minutes."

Shaking his head in awe, Kurt murmured, "If **_this_** is how he intends to make things up to me, I might not even require the sexual favors I was going to insist on."

Blaine stepped closer, wrapping his arms around Kurt. "Your boyfriend is more than happy to perform any sexual favors. _Please_. _Insist_ _away_," he teased quietly. Leaning in, Blaine enjoyed brushing his lips against Kurt's pink mouth, lightly running the tip of his tongue over Kurt's bottom lip.

"We should go inside before we become indecent," Blaine said upon breaking their kiss. "I asked for a special table, and Nick said he would make it happen." Holding out his gloved hand, he waited for Kurt to take it before leading him down a series of steep stairs. "When Nick was renovating this space into his restaurant, he wanted it to feel like you were entering a converted wine cellar," he explained.

"Who is this _Nick_?" asked Kurt, a small amount of jealousy creeping in to his voice.

"Nick Duvall. He owns _The Warbler's Song_. Well, co-owns," Blaine continued rather oblivious to the direction Kurt's feelings had gone. Blaine tucked his gloves into the pockets of his wool coat before sliding it off with his scarf. Helping Kurt with his wool coat, Blaine gave them over to the young man working the coat check, slipping the coat check ticket into his pocket.

In a slightly possessive move that turned Kurt on more than he'd ever admitted, Blaine placed his hand low on Kurt's back, subtly guiding him over to the hostess desk. Kurt smiled when Blaine tucked his fingers inside the belt at Kurt's waist, letting anyone who cared to know, that they were together.

"Reservation for two under Anderson."

Blaine used his formal tone, the one Kurt teased was his cop voice – his official _dealing with the public voice_. In the almost three months they'd been seeing each other, Kurt had learned to recognize many of the different 'voices' Blaine used. His favorite, by far, was the gravely, deep voice Blaine woke up with after a solid night's sleep.

"Yes, sir. Mr. Duvall said you were his personal guests and to tell you to let any of the staff know if something isn't up to Dalton standards. I'm not sure what that means, but he assured me you would understand, Mr. Anderson." She picked up a leather bound menu and led the men through the restaurant.

It was dimly lit and the tables were spaced far enough apart so as to allow privacy for all the guests. The hostess led them into a secluded room with four tables in the center surrounded by booths that wrapped around the wall. Blaine and Kurt were seated at the rounded booth furthest away from the other tables – the only empty place they'd seen.

When they'd settled in, the hostess smiled shyly. "If you would like more privacy, you can release the draperies on either side of the booth. Mr. Duvall has taken care of the menu for you – but your server will be by shortly, so if you have any questions, or allergies that the kitchen should know about, please let him know. I hope you enjoy your evening, gentlemen."

"She was sweet," observed Blaine who was taking in the Tuscan influences of the decor. When Kurt failed to answer, Blaine glanced over at Kurt, taking in the arms folded across his chest, and knew Kurt's defenses were up. "You disagree?"

Shaking his head, Kurt picked up the spoon in front of him and turned it over nervously. "How … how do you know Nick Duvall, Blaine?"

"We're friends," Blaine answered smoothly, watching Kurt's reactions acutely.

Sighing quietly, Kurt continued to stare at the silverware.

"Kurt? I can't read your mind. I wish I could, but I can't. Talk to me, sweetheart." Blaine took a moment to unhook one of the drapes, allowing it to swing free and hide half of the table from view. Once that was done, he slid closer to Kurt wrapping his arms around him, pulling him gently against his chest.

When Kurt continued to not answer, Blaine grew more nervous. Voice tight he said, "I thought you'd like coming here. _Would_ you rather go somewhere else? Because we can do that. Anywhere you wanna go. _Shit_, you wanna go to Denny's, we're there."

Kurt couldn't hold back the hot tears at the sadness in Blaine's voice. "**No**," he whispered, swallowing around his tight throat. "I'm sorry. I … I'm sorry for being so dramatic. I just … he must have been a _really_ special friend. You know. To agree to get you reservations so quickly."

Blaine looked perplexed. "Who? Nick?"

Kurt nodded.

"Nick and I are the best of friends, Kurt. We went to Dalton Academy together. We were part of their glee club, roomed together for two years. You want crazy stories about me and boarding school – Nick's the one to cozy up to," Blaine explained with a little laugh.

Turning more serious, he continued, "But if what you're worried about is whether we were ever _together_ together – that's a decided no. He's a friend. Period. Not an ex-boyfriend." Blaine brushed his lips over Kurt's temple, keeping his arms wrapped tight around Kurt's waist.

"I'm an idiot," Kurt sniffled.

"You're **_my_** idiot," Blaine replied affectionately. "You being kinda, maybe, just a little bit _jealous_ – of the idea I might have been with someone in my past? That's … hot. And for the record – I don't like thinking about you kissing some other guy either," Blaine sighed. "Anyway, Nick has only ever had eyes for one guy. He's into blonds. And I'm clearly not. A blond that is," he added, gesturing towards his own dark curls.

"Oh, _shit_," Kurt murmured, with a teasing smile. "I hadn't noticed." Pursing his lips, Kurt made a show of considering Blaine and his hair. "Maybe I need to rethink our relationship," he said with a wink.

Blaine pressed his lips against Kurt's ear, "Shut up, Hummel. I know you _love_ my hair."

Giving Blaine a shy smile, Kurt took a moment to stare into the warmth of Blaine's eyes. Then, sitting up straight, he took both of Blaine's hands in his. "Hi. I'm Kurt Hummel. I'll be auditioning for the role of your slightly dramatic-"

"_Slightly_?" Blaine whispered under his breath.

Kurt rolled his eyes, "_Slightly_ dramatic, confident, appreciative boyfriend." Pressing his lips together, he let out a slow breath before adding, "Thank you. For doing all of this. For me. It really does mean the world to me. And you're right – we could be at Denny's or IHOP and I'd still love it, because I'd be with you. I-"

The sound of a throat being cleared drew their attention away from each other. A smartly dressed brunet stood in the narrow opening not covered by the heavy drapes. Wine bottle tucked under his arm, he smiled widely towards the couple.

"Nick!" Blaine's face lit up at realizing his friend had taken the time to stop by.

"Blainers." Holding out his hand to Kurt, he introduced himself, "Nick Duvall. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Kurt."

"Thank you, Nick."

Nick began opening the wine bottle. "Look, I know this is a little unusual, but I went ahead and placed your order with the kitchen. It's a little on the menu and a little off menu. And this," he said, starting to pour the clear, white wine into their glasses, "should be the perfect accompaniment to your salad."

Blaine swirled the light golden liquid in the light before taking a sip. "That's delicious," he said appreciatively.

Nick nodded. "It's one of our favorites." Placing the bottle on the table, pocketed Blaine's place setting with a wink. "Jeff's idea," he shrugged. "He thinks it'll be more … _romantic_ – if you share. Peter will be serving you tonight. If you need anything, anything at all, let him know or have him come find me. And B? Jeff says next time, the two of you are coming over to our _house_ for dinner."

"We'd love that," Blaine grinned. "Thanks, Nick."

Shrugging, Nick added, "We miss you and your crazy on-the-job stories. And I'm sure we could come up with an interesting story, or four, for Kurt about our Dalton days."

"Oh, God," groaned Blaine, dropping his head down.

Laughing, Nick and Kurt shared a smile. "Ask him about _Nightbird_, Kurt. Then email me - I'll send you the pictures," Nick added conspiratorially.

"Nick! You _promised_!" whined Blaine.

Raising an eyebrow, Nick shook his finger at Blaine. "As I recall, I promised to make sure that neither Jeff nor Sebastian snuck those pictures into the yearbook. Which I did – at great _personal_ sacrifice, not that you noticed. Not once did I promise that I wouldn't pull them out later to share with someone you care about as much as you care about Kurt. How else am I supposed to earn his trust?"

Folding his arms across his chest, Blaine opened his mouth to answer Nick when Kurt draped an arm around Blaine's shoulder, sliding up behind him and dropping a hand high on Blaine's thigh.

"Should I use the email contact on the restaurant's web page? I'm not sure I can trust _Mr_. Anderson to give me your actual email address," Kurt teased, his knuckles grazing Blaine's zipper.

Huffing, Blaine turned on his best pout. "I am too trustworthy. Geez."

Nick's attention was drawn to something on the other side of the velvet curtain. "Your salad is here. I'm going to head back to the kitchen. Enjoy your meals, gentlemen. And yes, Kurt, any of the email addresses on the web page will come to me. You're right to be wary of this one." Winking, Nick wandered off as Peter set their salad plate in the middle of where they were cuddled together.

"Mr. Duvall hopes you'll enjoy the Orchard Harvest Salad. You'll be sampling the finest orchard pears, apples and candied pecans on a crisp bed of mixed greens. Mr. Duvall substituted a creamy chevre instead of the traditional gorgonzola and the entire salad is dressed with a citrus vinaigrette," Peter explained with enthusiasm. "Is there anything I can get for you at this time?"

Mouth watering at the sight of the beautiful salad, Blaine shook his head. "No thank you, Peter."

"Very good. I'll be back in a bit to check on you. I believe your next course is the traditional Swiss and Gruyere fondue. Enjoy." Closing the drapes, Peter's footsteps faded into the distance.

Kurt reached for his fork and dug into the colorful salad. Holding up the bite to Blaine's lips, Kurt watched with delight as Blaine's eyes lit up. Chewing slowly, he took the fork out of Kurt's fingers and fed him his first bite. Kurt couldn't contain the moan of pleasure as the flavor burst across his tongue.

"I know. Best. Salad. Ever."

Stealing the fork back, Kurt rested his head on Blaine's shoulder. "Can we eat here every day? Does Nick have an extra room and we could just move in with him and he could cook for us every day?"

Blaine brushed a kiss on Kurt's forehead, chuckling quietly. "Having roomed with Nick … I have no desire to repeat that experience in this lifetime. And I don't think that either one of us wants to make the commute from Westerville to Lima every day we go in to work – although we could do it together, so that would be a bonus."

They continued feeding each other bites of the salad, happy to allow the silence to stretch between them as they ate.

"You'll just have to bring me back," Kurt concluded.

"Can do," Blaine said, lifting the last bite of salad to Kurt's lips. When Kurt had finished, and sipped on the white wine, Blaine leaned in to capture his lips. They could hear the clinking of silverware on plates and the low murmur of other voices – but from their position behind the curtain, no one could actually see them kiss. Blaine wanted nothing more than to take advantage of this fact.

Eventually he pulled back, blushing deeply. "The wine tastes even better on your lips," he murmured hoarsely.

Kurt blinked slowly, Blaine's words taking their time sinking into the lust-filled haze of his brain. Dipping a finger into his glass of wine, Kurt painted his lips and smothered Blaine's wanton moan by forcing their lips back together.

It was unclear how long Peter had stood there, softly clearing his throat, before they realized they had an audience of one. Judging from the pink tips of Peter's ears, it had been longer than either of them had realized.

Shaking his head as if to clear it, Peter gave a shy smile. "This is the Lobster Cachapas. It's a Venezuelan dish of corn pancakes that have been filled with spicy, roasted red peppers, lobster meat, a creamy Monterey jack cheese. It's been paired with a tropical fruit salsa and an aioli made with Chipotle peppers." As he described the dish, Peter took the bottle of wine from the table and topped off their glasses.

"All the ingredients have been harvested locally, except for the Maine lobsters, which are flown in every other day. I also included a small dish of our cucumber yogurt. It's not typically part of the dish – but it can be a bit spicy, depending on how well you tolerate heat – and the yogurt curbs the burning better than water or wine."

Kurt eyed the colorful dish closely. "It looks wonderful. Thank you, Peter."

Peter carefully filled their water glasses and again replaced the drapes, dropping the couple into seclusion once again.

Three bites in, Kurt let out a quiet moan, eyes closing as he savored the flavors. Nudging the dish closer to Kurt, Blaine fed him another bite, content to watch his boyfriend fall apart over his food. "_That_ good, babe?" Blaine inquired seductively.

Smirking, Kurt fluttered his eyes open and ran his tongue across his lower lip. "So good. Almost better than sex, good." He took the fork from Blaine's fingers and helped himself to another bite, watching Blaine's eyes as he slowly drew the fork from his mouth.

"_Almost_?" Blaine growled, scooting closer to Kurt, who slid further into the rounded booth. "I mean, yes, the food is amazing." Dropping his hand onto Kurt's belt buckle, Blaine moved forward until his lips brushed Kurt's ear. "But I don't think it comes close …"

Claiming Kurt's lips with his own, Blaine made quick work of Kurt's buckle. "Can you be quiet for me, babe? Like, really quiet?" Blaine breathed into Kurt's ear.

Shuddering under Blaine's ministrations, Kurt offered a meek, "Blaine."

"Ssshh. No one can see. And if you stay quiet, no one will know. You just keep eating your dinner, babe. Let me take care of you." Resting his forehead against Kurt's, Blaine added quietly, "Wanna see if I can get you to make those same faces you keep making with every bite of food."

Kurt had to be extremely vigilant while finishing the cachapas – doing his best not to choke on the food every time Blaine found a particularly sensitive spot. Somehow he'd managed to keep quiet – although judging from the dark, blown pupils of his boyfriend, Blaine had heard every gasp and sharp intake of air.

By the time Peter had returned with the next course, they'd both caught their breath and the tell-tale rosy flush from their activities had faded. It was Blaine who had a difficult time keeping a straight face as Peter described the filet mignon as the finest cut of meat they would ever have in their mouths.

"So the meat should just … melt in our mouths?" Fully aware of his double entendre, Kurt's voice had taken on a slightly deeper tone.

"Oh, yes," Peter answered. "Especially with the truffle beurre blanc sauce.

Scooping up a bit of the white sauce onto his finger, Kurt licked it off with a flick of his tongue. "Heavenly," he breathed, his hand creeping up Blaine's thigh.

After Peter had left again, Blaine turned his gaze on Kurt, eyes narrowed. "Tease," he growled.

Kurt's response was to rub the beurre blanc sauce on Blaine's lips. "Oh dear. You've got something right … there. Let me get that for you."

* * *

The rest of their dinner could more accurately be described as an hour and a half of foreplay – the gentle teasing and kissing and fondling continued. Blaine rolled his eyes when Peter presented them with their chocolate fondue course for dessert, knowing that Kurt would be eating more chocolate off of his lips and fingers than off the cookies and berries that came with it.

Eventually though, they were left with only a mocha and a latte in front of them, staring lovingly into each other's eyes. Running his fingers through Blaine's curls, Kurt gave a shy smile. "I know you were really pissed off that night, but I've never regretted driving around those train gates – because I met you."

Kurt could tell Blaine disagreed with his statement by the way he pursed his lips. "You don't agree?"

"I'd like to think," he bit his lower lip lightly as he gestured between them, "that _this_ … **us** … was meant to be. That if I hadn't pulled you over for risking your life, we would have met another – _safer_ – way. You know, a flat tire I couldn't change or at The Lima Bean. I don't, however, for one minute, regret meeting you." Blaine ran his hand down the beginnings of stubble on Kurt's jaw.

"The idea of you getting hurt … it terrifies me, Kurt. The idea that we could have ended before I got to meet you?" Blaine had to look away from Kurt.

"Now you understand how I feel," Kurt said with a small shrug.

That brought Blaine's gaze back to him.

"Every day you put on your vest and your gun and go out to uphold the peace. Protect and serve and all that. Every minute of that time, I'm petrified that something will happen to you, Blaine." Kurt took Blaine's hand and held it tight.

"Kurt," Blaine's voice cracked with emotion.

"It's okay. I mean, it's not, but it is. It's who you are. And I'm not giving you up because of my fears about what _might_ happen." Kurt was quiet for a moment, content to stroke his fingers along Blaine's knuckles.

Bringing their foreheads together, Blaine toyed with the soft hair at the nape of Kurt's neck. "Kurt … I"

Unfortunately, whatever Blaine was going to say was interrupted by Peter – who had had impeccable timing up until this moment – holding the leather bill holder. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.

Offering a reassuring smile, Blaine waved away Peter's concerns. "You've been a fabulous server, Peter. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Mr. Anderson."

Flipping the cover over, Blaine stared for a moment at the printout of their bill; Nick had comp'd the entire meal – _and_ their wine. Rubbing his hand across his face, Blaine looked up at Peter. "This … Peter, no. Can you ask Nick to come back out here? This is too much."

Smiling widely, Peter waved off Blaine's protests. "No, sir. Mr. Duvall insisted. Your meal is on the house, tonight."

Looking more than a bit flustered, Blaine shook his head. "Seriously. I didn't expect … him getting us a table was enough." Sighing, Blaine took a different route. "What about you, Peter?"

Eyebrows shooting up, Peter shrugged. "Please don't worry about that. Mr. Duvall and Mr. Sterling took care of that as well."

Blaine eyed Peter carefully. "Are you sure? Because the very least I should be doing is making sure that you receive a proper tip for your service tonight."

"Oh, yes, sir. Mr. Duvall and Mr. Sterling always … look out for me. I … graduated from Dalton four years ago. Mr. Sterling was my government teacher. When my parents … thought it would be best for me to move out when I turned 18," Peter visibly swallowed hard. "They made sure I had a place to stay. Later Mr. Duvall hired me to work here. I would have worked your table for nothing for them."

Peter stared at the picture on the wall for a few moments, before shaking himself. "Anyway, I've never seen the two of them more excited to receive a reservation request. And we've had a few celebrities come by. You obviously mean quite a lot to them."

Taking Kurt's hand in his, Blaine smiled wryly. "They're two of the best friends a man could ask for."

"Well, unless you have any other requests gentlemen, I'll leave you now. I hope you'll come dine with us again – sooner rather than later," Peter remarked.

Groaning, Kurt patted his belly with his free hand. "It's gonna take at least a month for me to need to eat again. I feel like a boa constrictor that just ate an entire goat. But it was **_so_** good. I'll be back for sure."

"Good. Then I'll see you soon. Have a pleasant evening."

* * *

After collecting their coats, Blaine had helped Kurt with his before shrugging on his own. Blaine held out his hand and intertwined their fingers together, gently tucking their clasped hands into the deep pocket of his wool coat. The night air was frigid, but clear and Blaine made sure to stay close to Kurt as they strolled around the building to the secluded back parking lot.

Walking around to the passenger side of the car, Blaine unlocked it but pressed closer to Kurt before his boyfriend could open the car door. Brushing his nose against Kurt's, Blaine whispered, "Hi." His mischievous grin grew.

"Hi," Kurt whispered back.

Blaine continued gazing into the depths of Kurt's eyes their bodies pressed close.

"What?" asked Kurt quietly.

Refusing to give an answer, Blaine raised his hands and buried them underneath Kurt's scarf, gently holding Kurt's neck and jaw. Eyes focusing on the beautiful pink lips in front of him, Blaine drifted forward until his tongue could flit softly across Kurt's lips. Humming appreciatively, he muttered the word 'chocolate' before deepening the kiss.

Most of the time, their kissing was – equitable. One of them might take control for a while, but in the end, the give and take was exactly that – a give and take.

This kiss was different.

Blaine wanted and Blaine needed.

Kurt couldn't help the whimpers and moans that escaped as Blaine claimed his mouth. He was caught between wanting to push Blaine away and suggest they go home to finish things there, or giving in to temptation and wrapping his legs around Blaine's waist like a needy teenager. As he felt a familiar tingle building swiftly, he wrenched his mouth away from Blaine, panting, "Stop, _honey_. You gotta stop. I'm too close."

Biting down on Kurt's ear, Blaine growled, "I don't see a problem. Wanna watch you fall apart. Again."

Pushing firmly on Blaine's shoulders, Kurt got the other man to move back a step although he instantly regretted it, as the chilly night air came flooding in. "It's not the _falling apart_ I have an issue with, honey. I rather enjoy that part," Kurt smirked. "It's the driving home for over an hour, sticky – that I have qualms about."

Raising an eyebrow, Blaine offered, "I could make sure you weren't sticky."

Sighing deeply, Kurt scrubbed a hand down his face. "I'm not being clear. I'm sorry." Lifting one of Blaine's hands to his mouth, Kurt kissed his knuckles before pulling him closer. "I don't want to have sex _here_, Blaine. Not in the back lot of your best friend's restaurant."

Wrapping his arms around Blaine's shoulders, Kurt held him tight. "Maybe it's just because I'm not as adventurous as you … but I think one act of public sex is all I can do in a night." Kurt cupped Blaine's chin in his hand and guided him closer until their lips were brushing softly. "Tonight was … _everything_."

Humming appreciatively, Blaine left a trail of kisses up Kurt's jaw to his ear. "Then you've completely forgiven your asshole boyfriend for missing Thanksgiving? I did good?" While he managed to keep up the façade of confidence most of the time, the shakiness of his voice gave away how worried he still was that Kurt might be upset over his missing the holiday dinner.

Moisture flooded Kurt's eyes and he tried to blink it away before Blaine saw – but that wasn't going to happen. "Blaine Devon Anderson – no one, and I mean absolutely no one – has ever gone to as much trouble, has put as much thought and effort, into making me feel … like _this_. Like I'm the most important person in the world."

"You are. To me," breathed Blaine.

"I know. I know it because it's in every look you give and in every touch and in every kiss. And I hope – from the bottom of my heart – that you feel the same thing from me," he managed to push out around his tight throat."

Nosing Kurt's scarf away from his neck, Blaine buried his face there. Kurt could feel the vibrations as Blaine spoke.

"Every day and every night."

"So take me home, Blaine. Let's go _home_. Because please note – I said '_not here in the parking lot_' not '_no, not tonight_.' And I seem to recall my boyfriend saying he wasn't opposed to sexual favors as part of his plan to win back my favor. Not that he ever lost it."

Kurt gazed into Blaine's eyes, slowly stroking his curls, watching – waiting for the acknowledgment that Blaine understood that Kurt never had felt upset over his having to work the holiday. Finally, Blaine pressed his lips together tightly and just barely nodded. "Good, but don't tell him," Kurt teased gently, "I'm rather looking forward to seeing what he's dreamed up."

"Noted," Blaine said with a chuckle, swiping at his eyes. "Our drive will be somewhat shorter than what you're anticipating, though."

"Why's that?"

Grinning as he opened the car door for Kurt, Blaine said mysteriously, "You'll see."

* * *

The logs in the small fireplace crackled loudly, stirring Blaine. Half sprawled across Kurt's body, he shifted slightly, moaning appreciatively at the sensation of their warm, naked skin sliding against each other. After they'd finished the most luscious meal Blaine had ever eaten, he'd surprised Kurt again by taking him to a nearby Bed and Breakfast that offered private cottages to its guests.

Settling in, Blaine had knelt in front of the fireplace, and used the matches left nearby to light the kindling and then the vanilla scented pillar candles on the mantel. When the room was lit by the soft glow of flames, Blaine turned to find Kurt perched on the edge of the queen-sized bed that took up most of the room. Beckoning Blaine over with his finger, Kurt had taken his time undressing Blaine before slipping out of his own clothing.

Their love-making had been slow and deliberate, and had gone on until the logs had burned down to glowing red embers. Eventually they'd made it into the shower, washing each other with care. Once they'd dried off, they returned to the bedroom and Blaine had thrown another log on the fire before crawling across the soft bed to wrap his arms around Kurt, drifting off to sleep.

Awake again, Blaine slid his palm across Kurt's lower belly, reveling in the tactile sensation of warm, smooth skin – warm, smooth skin that was his to touch whenever he wanted. Blaine knew, without a doubt, that he'd fallen in love with Kurt Hummel.

"Mmmm," hummed Kurt, turning to snuggle further into Blaine. "Not sure I'm up for another round, honey," he murmured. "The mind might be willing, but this old body is plumb worn out," he groaned, dropping a hand to rest on the top of Blaine's ass.

Snorting into Kurt's shoulder, Blaine dropped a kiss onto his collarbone. "You're hardly old, babe. And I'm not Superman either." Propping his head up on his elbow, Blaine smiled down at Kurt. "I can't help it if my hands want to wander over the real estate of my gorgeous, sexy, lover," Blaine growled, dropping a series of slow kisses on Kurt's swollen lips.

"Flattery will get you everywhere – with a couple more hours of sleep," Kurt laughed, his hand reaching to hold Blaine by his curls.

Leaning into the touch, Blaine gazed seriously at Kurt. "I'm everywhere I'd want to be. I'm with you."

Kurt rolled his eyes affectionately at Blaine. "You're such a cheeseball. I'm not sure why I put up with you."

Blaine smirked. Rolling Kurt onto his back, Blaine straddled Kurt's waist and began ticking off reasons on his fingers. "I can get you out of a parking ticket."

"But you wouldn't," scoffed Kurt.

Shrugging, Blaine agreed. "True. But I could. Your dad loves me."

"He loves that you speak football and root for the Buckeyes."

Blaine squeezed Kurt with his knees. "That's not the only reason he loves me and you know it. I look hot in my uniform."

Kurt sighed dramatically. "Okay, I'll give you that one."

Leaning forward, Blaine kissed Kurt softly. "That's for not arguing that you find me hot. I may not always be able to be there for events and holidays – but I will make up for it."

Snaking his arm around Blaine's neck, Kurt tugged him down for another languid kiss. "You didn't have to make up for working on Thanksgiving, Blaine," he whispered into Blaine's ear. "I get it, I really do. That being said, I've enjoyed every moment of you making things up to me."

Blaine took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Stretching out next to Kurt, he intertwined their fingers. "I'm glad to hear that." He was quiet for several minutes, playing with Kurt's fingers while he worked up the courage to say what was on his mind.

"You know the biggest reason you put up with me, Kurt Hummel?" he asked quietly.

Kurt brushed a kiss on Blaine's temple, pulling the shorter man closer into his side. "Because, silly, you're head over heels in love with me," Kurt answered simply. "Which is good," he added, "because realized I was in love with you a while ago."

"Really?"

"Duh. It's not every day you find an intelligent, courageous, attractive man who can give you four amazing orgasms in under two hours," Kurt teased quietly.

Blaine snorted, burying his face in Kurt's shoulder. "Don't forget I have access to handcuffs," he giggled.

"Don't think I've forgotten that, Blaine Anderson. And if you end up having to work Christmas – well, I'm just saying you might just have to bring them to bed with you – to make things up to me." Kurt carded his fingers through Blaine's curls. "When will you find out?"

"If I'm working Christmas? Another week. But if I work Christmas, I'll have New Year's off. Or vice versa – so if you have a preference, tell me now," murmured Blaine, who resumed tracing patterns with his fingertips over Kurt's stomach and hip.

Kurt cleared his throat nervously. "If you had New Year's off … would you … would you be interested in going to New York with me? For a long weekend? Meet some of my friends, see a show." He could feel Blaine tense beneath him, and was confused why his invitation might cause such a reaction.

Biting his lower lip, Blaine took his time to look up at Kurt. "I'd love to visit New York with you at New Year's, Kurt," he answered softly, gripping Kurt's hand firmly.

Canting his head to the side, Kurt studied Blaine's face, watching the shadows play across his face. "I sense a 'but' coming," he concluded.

Shaking his head, Blaine kissed Kurt's jaw. "No. Really. I'd love to go with you… but,"

Nudging Blaine with his elbow, Kurt tried to joke, "See!" When Blaine dropped his gaze, Kurt knew something significant was upsetting Blaine. Kurt wriggled down so he was eye level with Blaine and slotted their legs together, pulling Blaine flush against his body. If anything, Kurt had learned that Blaine often took his time expressing the things he felt most deeply.

"Kurt?" Blaine's voice was barely a whisper. "Are you … do you … where do you see yourself – in three months? Six months? A year?"

"Blaine?"

Head resting on Kurt's shoulder, Blaine kept his gaze down. "You came back to Lima to take care of your dad … and he's better now. Things are settled … and you and Finn could hire someone to manage the shop … so you could, you know, go back to your life in New York. We've never talked about it."

Pressing his forehead against Blaine's, Kurt didn't rush to answer. "New York was my dream when I was a teenager desperate for a place that would accept and love me for who I was. I got to live that dream for fifteen years, Blaine. But dreams change."

Kurt moved to sit up, pulling Blaine with him so they could sit cross-legged, foreheads still pressed together. "Lima wouldn't be the first place I'd choose to live. It's still a little too … small town, country for my tastes. But I can earn a living here, and my family is here, and most important – the man I've fallen in love with – the man I can't see living my life without – he's here, in Lima. So as wonderful as New York is – New York doesn't have you."

Taking a deep breath, Kurt tilted Blaine's chin until they were looking at each other. "I want to give us a chance, Blaine. Because you make me dream about … other … things. Things that I had kinda given up on having in my life." Lifting his thumb to Blaine's cheek, he slowly wiped away the moisture he found there.

"I see myself next to you. Three months. Six months. One year. Ten." Kurt leaned forward, kissing Blaine. "I love you."

"I love you too, so much," Blaine managed to squeeze out.

"So New Year's in New York?"

"Sounds perfect, Kurt Hummel." Blaine slid off the bed and crossed to the fireplace, tossing another large log onto the glowing embers.

When he turned back to the bed, he found Kurt leering at him. Rolling his eyes, Blaine crawled across the mattress and lowered himself down onto Kurt's body. "Mmmm," he hummed appreciatively. "Pencil me in on Team Naked Time is Good, please."

Kurt wriggled until Blaine's weight was properly adjusted over his body so he could breath. "Make sure you pack your handcuffs, honey. Because I have this secret fantasy that involves being pressed naked against a floor to ceiling window, the city lights sprinkled below, while you slowly take me from behind."

Blaine whimpered.

"Thought you'd like that," rasped Kurt, closing his eyes.

"Someday I'm going to go down on you in the back of a taxi … or a limo," Blaine growled, nibbling on Kurt's collar bone.

Sleep came … sometime after they did.

* * *

_End Note: This entire chapter came from BilliMonroe's simple comment to a preview: "I wonder when they started saying 'I love you'". I asked the guys, this is what they answered with. Totally not where I thought this story would be going, but I am happy with the result. Thank you for reading and chocolate fondue to those of you who've taken the time to review. In the interest of full disclosure, The Warbler's Song is based on a local restaurant that I love. Chapter 4: Where Kurt Rides Along will be up next week. Until then, stay safe and thank you for reading! k8_


	4. Where Kurt Rides Along - part 1 of 2

_**A/N: **__I consider myself lucky to have able to ride-along - four times. It is always an eye-opening experience to see what our law enforcement officers can, and do, deal with on a day to day basis. Much of Kurt's experiences on his ride-along are lifted from my own. Thanks Billi for your cheerleading! Part 2 is 83.89% complete - it will be done before my laundry. _

_**Disclaimer: **__I do not own Glee or its characters._

* * *

**_February 14_****_th_****_, Valentine's Day_**

**_14:19 hours_**

Using his arms to push himself up, Blaine plopped his butt down on the kitchen counter in his condo, scrubbing his fingers through his sleep-mussed curls. The rich aroma of the coffee brewing filled the air and he inhaled deeply, anxious for his first cup. His eyes shuttered against the early afternoon sun, he felt Kurt nudge his knees apart, before arms wrapped themselves snuggly around his waist.

"Hey babe," rasped Blaine, reaching out to rest his arms on Kurt's shoulders and nuzzling into the soft hair of Kurt's head.

Kurt hummed a response, fingers tugging at the thick cloth of Blaine's t-shirt until they could slip underneath to the heated flesh beneath.

Dropping his chin to the top of Kurt's head, Blaine sighed. "Still coming with me tonight?"

"Mmmhmm," Kurt answered sleepily.

Yawning widely, Blaine shook his head trying to wake up. "Do you suppose when our kids ask how we spent our first Valentine's Day together, they'll end up laughing when we tell them you went to work with me?"

Kurt raised an eyebrow at Blaine, but kept silent while he stepped back and filled a large coffee mug with the steamy dark liquid. Taking a long sip, he passed it to Blaine who blew on it gently before taking his own drink. "I think," Kurt began thoughtfully, "that _our_ kids are going to roll their eyes at us no matter what we're telling them."

Eyes catching Kurt's gaze, Blaine offered a shy smile. "Probably." Blaine hesitated for a moment before finding the courage to ask, "Kurt? Do you … do you want kids? I mean, in general. Not with me. I mean, I wouldn't mind if it were with me – you know later down the road. Maybe not too much later, but I was just wondering. About kids. About how you feel."

When the wheat toast in the toaster popped up, Kurt spread peanut butter on Blaine's pieces before adding a drizzle of honey to his own. Listening to Blaine's nervous ramblings, Kurt's smile grew until he couldn't contain a snort. "Am I really _that_ intimidating that I _still_ make you this nervous, honey?" he asked quietly, handing Blaine his breakfast.

Looking sheepish, Blaine placed his toast back on the counter and took Kurt's chin in his fingers, rubbing them against Kurt's stubble. Taking a deep, settling breath, he explained, "I say shit, and then I think to myself, '_Fuck_, Blaine, what if he hates kids? What if every time you mention the future, it makes him want to run for the hills?"

A couple flippant remarks went through Kurt's mind, but he realized at the same time that Blaine was opening himself up in a manner that wasn't typical. "Do you – in your heart – do you really feel like I'd run away from you? From us? In all seriousness."

Blaine shook his head, staring at the floor. "No," he whispered, "no, I don't. I just … I worry."

Kurt leaned up to kiss Blaine softly. "Do you remember me telling you that my dreams have shifted since coming home to Lima? I dated guys when I was in New York. But after a couple years of only finding Mr. Right Now, instead of Mr. Right – I closed the door on that chapter of my life. Then, I met you. And you've handed me a whole new book, full of blank pages just waiting to be filled. I never imagined settling down and having a family."

"_Oh_," sighed Blaine, slipping down from the counter.

"Let me finish, handsome," Kurt insisted, blocking Blaine in with his arms. "I never imagined it – _until_ you. The idea of kids is kinda scary – but the idea of you as a dad … kinda hot. And I think it's a path that I wouldn't want to take with anyone else but you."

A million butterflies in Blaine's stomach took flight. Wrapping his arms tight around Kurt, he buried his face in the crook of Kurt's neck, rocking the back and forth. Lifting his head, Blaine kissed the side of Kurt's neck. "Love you," he murmured. "How long do you need to get ready?

"Since I only have to impress you – and we both know you're most impressed when I'm naked, covered with a light sheen of sweat – twenty minutes," teased Kurt, grinding himself lightly against Blaine.

"You do know you have to wear clothes on the ride-along, right?" snickered Blaine.

"Spoil-sport."

* * *

**_15:33 hours_**

Blaine punched the code into the key pad and opened the back door to the station house, gesturing Kurt to enter before him. "Follow me," he instructed, leading Kurt through a confusing series of hallways until they reached the locker room.

Once he was standing in front of his locker, Blaine began pulling out pieces of his uniform. "Here," he said with a wicked grin, "hold this for a moment."

Kurt took the bullet proof vest from Blaine, feeling the hefty weight. On one hand, he thought it was fairly heavy, but on the other, for as important of a job as it had, it seemed infinitely too light. "Can I try it on?" he asked Blaine quietly.

"Yeah," Blaine agreed, brushing some powder over his chest before yanking a t-shirt over his naked chest. "Let me help." The front and back of the vest were connected by large Velcro straps, so he helped Kurt swing the vest over his head on to his shoulders. Carefully, Blaine wrapped the straps around Kurt's chest. "How's that feel?" he asked.

"Weird, I guess," Kurt admitted using his knuckles to rap against the plates.

A voice from behind them called out, "You get used to it pretty quickly, Hummel. Mostly because you're too busy worrying about everything else."

Kurt's eyes widened substantially. Spinning on his heel, he managed to whisper, "Dave," despite his throat tightening.

Feeling the tension in the room ratchet up exponentially, Blaine moved closer to Kurt. "Hey, Karofsky," he acknowledged, fiddling with the straps of the vest before removing it and placing it over his own chest. "How do you two know each other?" Blaine asked, hoping that one of them would answer.

Clearing his throat, Kurt turned back to Blaine, moving to the other side of Blaine's locker to keep extra distance between him and the other deputy. "Dave and I went to high school together. He … played football with Finn. Among other things." The last comment was said under his breath.

Furrowing his forehead, Blaine continued to change into his uniform.

Dave walked closer to Blaine and Kurt, biting on his lower lip nervously. "Is Kurt the guy you've been talking about, Anderson?"

Nodding, Blaine toed off his shoes, kicked them into the lower part of the locker and stepped into his steel-toed uniform boots, zipping up the sides. He glanced at Kurt, noticing that Kurt was studiously reading every poster, flyer and piece of paper hung in the locker room rather than making eye contact with Karofsky.

"Look, what Hummel isn't telling you … is that I was a grade A douche bag to him in high school," Dave explained softly. At Blaine's sharp glance, Dave shrugged. "He was out and proud. And I was … fucking buried in the closet with the moth balls. I hated myself and I hated that he had so much confidence in himself."

Dave glanced over at Kurt. "I owe you a hell of a lot more than just an apology, Kurt. I'm sorry. More sorry than I could ever begin to express in words, especially here and right now. I just … I'd like you to know that … that I'm not like _that_ anymore. I'm not _that_ person. I'm sorry for every mean comment I said, every name I called you and for throwing you into the dumpsters and slamming you into lockers."

Kurt could feel the other men's eyes on him as he leaned against the cool metal of _this_ locker room and thought about Dave's apology. After some time, he raised his eyes carefully. "It's been fifteen years. I don't know about the statute of limitations on bullying, Dave, but I'm _sure_ it's run out by now."

Taking a deep breath, Kurt let it out slowly, "I forgave you a long time ago, because I realized that if I didn't, I'd only continue wasting energy on circumstances I couldn't change. So I chose to move on. Thank you, though. I appreciate your apology and I accept it." Holding out his hand, Kurt gave Dave an unsure smile as they shook.

"I'll, um, see you in briefing, Anderson," Dave said quietly before leaving Blaine and Kurt alone.

Full dressed, Blaine shut the locker, before tugging Kurt into his embrace. "Everything okay?" he asked against Kurt's ear.

"Water under the bridge," Kurt shrugged, taking in the awkwardness of hugging Blaine in uniform, given the bullet proof vest and gun belt that poked him in strange places.

"Clearly I don't know everything that went down between you two, and of course, if you feel like sharing, I'm here to listen. That being said, I want you to know that Dave Karofsky is one of the finest deputies I've had the pleasure of working with."

Taking a step back, Kurt gave Blaine a small smile while he tugged his shirt back into place. "That makes me feel better. I think. That you think so highly of him. So Dave has your back?"

Giving Kurt a serious look, Blaine answered emphatically, "Always. And I have his."

"Good."

Blaine started to lead Kurt out of the locker room, looking over his shoulder to add, "He's the one I was covering for at Christmas so he could be with his husband and two boys. I'm surprised I didn't mention his name."

Following closely, Kurt shook his head. "No. I mean, maybe you mentioned covering for a 'Dave' but I know I would have remembered if you'd have said 'Karofsky'. Too much history between us. Well, behind us. So he's married with kids? Two? Wow."

"Yup," Blaine answered, popping his 'p'. "I was thinking _we_ could have four or five."

Kurt actually stumbled at the comment, catching himself before he tumbled to the floor. Giving Blaine an incredulous look, Kurt mumbled, "You're certifiable. 5150 and all that."

Taking Kurt by the elbow, Blaine lowered the register of his voice. "You're the one that said picturing me as a dad was, and I quote, _'hot'_."

"We'll _talk_ about it," Kurt offered.

Blaine offered a smoldering smirk. "_Talk_? Sounds ... _good_. I'm sure I can convince you ... using my amazing _oral_ abilities." Waggling his eyebrows, he chuckled for a moment as Kurt rolled his eyes at Blaine's gentle teasing.

As his hand reached for the door handle to the briefing room, Blaine's complete demeanor shifted into a serious work-mode. "Just take a seat in the back. I've got to pick up some stuff and then I'll be right there. If anyone asks, just tell them you're riding along with me tonight.

"Okay."

* * *

**_16:12 hours_**

Blaine held out a silver key on a strange key ring. "It's the spare to the patrol car. Just in case," he explained as they settled into the seats.

Picking it up from Blaine's palm, Kurt's brow furrowed. "In case…?" Kurt paused, curious.

Shrugging has he typed on the laptop resting between the two seats, Blaine answered distractedly, "Call goes too long and you want to sit; call goes to shit and you need to safely remove yourself from the vicinity. _Just in case_."

Kurt sighed and shoved the key deep inside the pocket of his wool coat. Both his dad and Finn had been out on ride-alongs with Blaine in the past several months. Neither of them had anything too crazy go down. Certainly it would be the same with Kurt. Suddenly, Blaine slapped a laminated card against Kurt's chest.

"Here," he said, eyes still on the computer, "This has all the 10-codes listed and a lot of the penal codes you'll hear from dispatch."

"Ah, a cheat sheet of sorts," Kurt said slyly.

At that Blaine looked up and grinned. "There'll be a test later, so you better pay attention." Keying his shoulder radio, Blaine began speaking rapid fire to dispatch.

"Control, 3 Paul Twenty-One."

"3 Paul Twenty-One, Control. Go ahead."

"Control, please log me 10-8 with 10-14 for the duration. We'll be heading out to serve a bench warrant, address to follow, break."

Using his finger to track the codes listed on his chart, Kurt learned that 10-8 meant Blaine was 'on-duty' and 10-14 meant 'escort' so he assumed that meant that Blaine was escorting him around for the evening. By the time he'd figured out those two things, Blaine and the dispatcher had finished their conversation and Blaine was pulling the patrol car out of the parking lot.

"How long did it take you to learn all these? Seriously, there's a code for a Deceased Animal, Loose Livestock … and a Ballgame in Street?" Kurt's tone betrayed his shock at this last violation. "Seriously? A ballgame? Isn't that unpatriotic or something?"

Blaine grinned. "11-13, 11-12 and 11-15, right? The sheriff's academy is six months long – and you do a lot of studying. I use them 40 hours a week, 48 weeks a year, for the past ten years. They just … stick. I have to stop myself from using them when I with you or your family because I'm so used to talking in code, and being around people who understand what I'm saying when I do. You've even picked up some – remember you told me I was 5150 because I think we should have six kids."

"You, Blaine Anderson, said **_five_** kids. And you are crazy if you're thinking that."

Snorting, Blaine began singing, "_Craaazy, I'm craaaazy for loving yooouuu_," while waggling his eyebrows.

"_Dork_!" Kurt teased, crossing his arms protectively across his chest.

"That's **Deputy** Dork to you right now, sir."

Kurt caught himself before the snarky remark he was thinking flew out of his mouth. Really, he did need to remember that he was at Blaine's job right now, and as much as the two of them often fell into playful teasing, Blaine _was_ working. There was a time and place … and this might not be it. Or, at least, maybe he needed to tone it down just a bit.

Sensing Kurt's hesitation, Blaine reached out to squeeze Kurt's arm gently. "It's just us here."

"Reading minds now?" With affection, Kurt placed his hand on top of Blaine's. "Yeah, it is just us, but you're working. Tell me it wasn't a little more difficult to get approval to take me out than it was to take my dad or Finn."

Blaine shrugged and placed both hands back on the steering wheel. "Everyone takes their family out. _Everyone_. When I pointed that out to the Lieutenant, it made your ride along a non-issue. Mostly the concern was that we're going out on Valentine's Day."

"So they were worried that we might … get our groove on? While you're working? Ewww."

"Yeah, well, it happens. I've been told. Repeatedly," Blaine replied quietly.

They were both quiet as they considered the implications. Kurt was able to shake off the mood first. "Fine, _Deputy_ Anderson, teach me some more. What does your snazzy lap top do, for example?" Kurt asked, waving his hand in front of the bright monitor.

"Um, okay this section here, tells me everyone who's working right now. We're 3 Paul Twenty-One, right … there. The 3 designates the swing shift. Anyone with a 2 is day shift, 1 is midnights. Paul designates Patrol, Sam or S designates the sergeants. There should be at least 3 up right now. Mary or M are the motorcycle units. The V – Victor units are the parking officers."

Kurt nodded, starting to make sense of the letter and number conversations. "There are so many of them. I had no idea. And dispatch keeps track of them all?"

Blaine smiled. "Yeah, dispatch watches over all of us. But the number of units on–duty will shrink considerably in the next hour. The shifts overlap on purpose, so what you're seeing is all the day shift deputies and all the swing shift deputies on one screen. If the unit is on the left side, they're available. If the unit is on the right side, they're on a call. Those codes that follow should correspond to what's on your card. Um, looks like 3 Paul Twenty-Three – that's Dave's beat – has been assigned a 415v. That's a verbal fight – probably domestic."

"Makes sense," Kurt responded, glancing between his cheat sheet and the screen to see what he could decipher.

"This box down here allows me to communicate with dispatch – not unlike instant messaging, except that everything we type is recorded and subpoenable. If they don't want something going out over the radio, they'd send it here. I can do the same thing."

Considering what Blaine said, Kurt was curious, "Like, what might they not want to put out over the radio channel?"

Blaine made an adjustment to the heat registers before answering. "I had to arrest one of our sergeant's daughters for DUI once. We didn't want the entire force to know what was going down, so we kept it over the system. Also, if we were concerned we might be listened to - maybe a bank robbery or, god forbid, something that went down at the high school … we'd use this system instead."

Kurt nodded to show his understanding. "So we're in the right hand column – which you said means we're assigned to something. What's on our agenda, Deputy?

"Serving a $35,000 bench warrant. A woman who allegedly committed felony battery on her domestic partner failed to show up to court to answer to those charges. The judge issued a warrant for her arrest. We are going to pay a visit to her place of employment. If she's there, I am going to arrest her and we will take her to jail."

"Do not pass go … do not collect $200," Kurt added with a smile.

Blaine smiled back. "No get out of jail free card either."

Listening to the tinny voice of the dispatchers coming through the radio, Kurt stared at the lap top, glancing down frequently at his laminated card, doing his best to follow along with the various calls and conversations. "You know, Blaine," he said quietly, "I don't think you've ever told me how you ended up here."

Blaine looked over at Kurt, surprise showing on his face. "I thought we talked about it at Thanksgiving? When you first asked if I was spending the holiday with my family or if I could spend it with you and yours."

Tilting his head to the side, Kurt gave an affectionate smile. "No, honey. We talked about how your parents don't approve of your career choice – or your brother's – and how you've managed to shift trade so you could work the holiday as an excuse so you didn't have to go home and deal with your parents talking about how much money they wasted on your education since you decided to pick up a job playing '_cops and robbers'_."

"What I want to know," Kurt explained, "is how you decided 'Oh, there you are, '_Career As a Cop_,' I've been looking for you forever."

Blaine couldn't help the laughter that burst forth. "And you call _me_ the dork?"

"Pot," Kurt said, gesturing towards himself, "Kettle," he finished, pointing towards Blaine.

"Goof," Blaine said with a grin. "I was in my second year at Stanford."

"Have I told you how much your intelligence turns me on?" Kurt interrupted.

"As long as _something_ about me does," Blaine replied dryly. "Anyway, I had taken a couple psych classes to meet some gen ed requirements – thinking I was going to end up at law school somewhere – and I realized I really _enjoyed_ them. More than my other classes. I _liked_ learning about why people behave the way they do."

Blaine slowed down as he turned into an area containing a lot of commercial buildings, clearly searching for a particular address. "I took a class in criminology and was hooked. It truly was an A-ha moment, where I realized I wanted this to be my career path. So without telling Mom and Dad, I switched my major. Graduated with honors with degrees in criminal justice and psychology while minoring in Spanish. Came home and enrolled in the sheriff's academy and haven't looked back."

Pulling the cruiser over to the curb, Blaine shut off the engine and turned fully to look at Kurt. "Every day is different. I'm helping people. I know what I do makes a difference. It's stupid, but I have a whole scrapbook at home with letters and cards from the people I help. Wes and Nick started it for me when I was having a particularly tough time. I bring it out to remind me that people do care and are thankful for what I do."

"The amusing thing is, Mom and Dad would be perfectly content if I were using my degrees to put people away in jail as a lawyer. It's the uniform and gun they object to. Too _blue collar_ for their tastes. At least, that's what I think, when I try to separate my emotions from the situation."

Shaking his head to clear it, Blaine went back into his instructor role. "That building," he began, pointing to a large brick structure slightly up the street, "is where our _client_ works. I called back when we were in the police station, and the office manager says she's here today. If she didn't run her mouth, I should be able to go in and escort her outside without it becoming a huge deal."

Kurt licked his dry lips. "And what should I do?"

"Do you want to come with me?" Blaine asked.

"Um, I don't want to be in the way," Kurt admitted quietly.

"You wouldn't be. Why don't you stay here and wait, then."

Blaine climbed out of the cruiser and set off for the front of the building, carefully avoiding the dirty snow that was still melting away. Knowing it was going to be a long shift inside the patrol car, Kurt got out and walked towards the brick building, where a wooden picnic table sat – the snow dusted off as if someone had eaten lunch outside today.

Taking a seat, Kurt pulled out his cell phone sending a few text messages to Rachel and Santana with a picture of Blaine's patrol car so they'd know he wasn't kidding about what he was doing for Valentine's day. When a side door behind him opened up, Kurt startled.

"Excuse me," asked a tall brunette, "are you Lane Anders?"

Kurt pointed at himself. "Me?"

"Yeah."

"Um, no. I'm Kurt."

"Oh. My office manager said some guy named Lane Anders was here looking for me. Did you see anyone else around?"

"No. I wasn't really paying attention, though. Just checking my messages, waiting for my friend to be done with his business," Kurt improvised. Keep it close to the truth, he thought to himself as he subtly pressed the speed dial for Blaine's cell phone. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said to the woman, "I really have to take this."

As Kurt lifted the cell to his ear, the woman began to walk down the street, clearly looking for 'Lane Anders'. Kurt began whispering into the phone, "She's out here with me. Came out the side door and is looking for you. Should I stall her?"

"Are you in the patrol car?" Blaine asked sharply.

"No. Picnic bench next to the building."

"Is she trying to flee?"

"No. She's just really wanting to find this Lane Anders guy."

"Okay. I'm gonna come out. If she looks like she's getting in a car, call me back. Otherwise, play it cool. She doesn't know you're with me."

Kurt wasn't totally surprised when Blaine ended the call abruptly.

Watching the woman walking back towards him, Kurt continued the charade of talking on the phone. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Blaine approach her. It all happened fairly quickly. Blaine had a short conversation, she deflated. He took her arm and moved it behind her back, hand cuffing her in short order.

Another woman came to the side door, and held out a red purse. "Kurt, can you take that please?" Blaine called out as he opened the back door to his patrol car and helped the woman inside, buckling her seatbelt since she clearly could not.

Kurt took the purse and walked over to the car, climbing in to the passenger seat. Blaine lifted the purse from his hands, explaining to the woman that he'd place it in the trunk for safe transport.

Once he'd done that, Blaine slid into his seat and radioed dispatch that 3 Paul Twenty-One had one in custody to transport to County. Kurt could have sworn at that point Blaine read off his odometer, but when he asked Blaine about it, Blaine just shook his head. "Later," he said quietly.

To be expected, the woman in the back wasn't in the best spirits. She continually asked Blaine to give her a second chance or at least to listen to her side of the story. Blaine, for his part, kept gently, but firmly, explaining that his arresting her wasn't a choice on his part. A judge had signed a warrant for her arrest, and she'd be given a chance to explain her actions in front of a judge the next morning.

From the revving of the engine, Kurt could tell Blaine wasn't wasting any time traveling to the county jail. When they arrived, Blaine radioed dispatch as he pulled up to an electric gate that rolled up and down. He waved his police ID against a scanner, and the gate rolled up so they could proceed into an underground tunnel. Blaine parked, and shut off the engine.

"Stay here. You can't go in the jail. I'll be 10-15 minutes and then be back."

"'Kay," Kurt replied quietly.

While Blaine was inside the jail, Kurt watched anxiously as the entrance gate rolled back up and a large white bus rolled inside. Several deputies filed out of the jail entrance and off the bus as a large group of prisoners was transported back inside the jail. Part of Kurt was fascinated by all of this, while a smaller part was constantly wondering what he would do if one of them broke free – if there was a sudden riot inside this gated tunnel. There was nowhere to go.

Just as Kurt's nerves were about to get the best of him, Blaine reappeared. "Back again. You saw the work crew come back in?"

"That's what they are?"

"Yeah," Blaine commented, backing the patrol car up and driving towards the exit gate where he used his ID to get the gate to roll up again. "Control. 3 Paul Twenty-One, 10-8. They're guys who're in for non-violent offenses who work at some of the farms or on construction sites. It counts as extra time served."

"I figured it was a bunch of guys coming from a courthouse," Kurt said.

"Oh, no. The main courthouse is right next door. There's a tunnel that runs between them, so we don't even have to transport the prisoners. They walk right over, see the judge, and then come right back. There are special elevators and hallways to protect the judges and jury members as well as the prisoners."

"The prisoners? Really? They need protection?"

Blaine nodded. "Look, I say this with as little judgment as possible, but the worst – most tense – times, working at the courthouse, is when a jury is about to come back with a verdict on a murder trial. Then we have to be extra vigilant, because what happens when the victim's family doesn't get a guilty verdict they so desperately want? As a law enforcement officer, I'm still honor bound to protect the accused. Even if, in listening to the evidence, I personally think he's guilty as fuck."

"That's happened to you?" Kurt asked in amazement.

"Everyone has to work courts. I did a three year stint before requesting patrol. It's really interesting to watch the legal process from that angle. But it's also a lot less action than I see on a day to day basis. And yes, I had to hold back a guy Finn's size from going after the guy accused of raping then murdering his sister. And if I'm being completely honest, all I wanted to do was help the brother kick the defendant until he was dead. But Deputy Anderson doesn't get that choice. Plus, because I'd been in the courtroom when the judge and lawyers were arguing what evidence was going to be allowed to be presented to the jury, I had more information than those twelve men and women."

"So they found him not guilty? Even though he was?

Blaine shrugged. "They returned the verdict they felt was correct based on the evidence they'd been allowed to hear. They did their duty. And if more people would stand up and serve as jury members, instead of trying to get out of it with piss-poor excuses, maybe our justice system would work a little better. It's no use complaining about a problem if you could be part of the solution but choose not to be. Sorry. Don't mean to shout from my soap box."

Kurt ruffled Blaine's curls. "Shout away, honey. You're adorably hot when you're indignant."

Blaine rolled his eyes, but failed to keep the smile from his face.

"So do you know what happened to the defendant in that case?"

Blaine sighed deeply. "About a week after he was released, we found his body. Floating. In Silva's Quarry. The rains washed away any evidence. No one thinks it was an accident."

"Wow."

"Okay, last tip before we find something else to talk about. Next time you're serving on a jury, look at the defendant's socks. A lot of times the lawyer will have the family bring in a nice suit and shoes for the defendant to wear at trial. But for some reason, hardly anyone remembers to bring socks. So if he's wearing a nice suit, but bright orange socks – he's a guest at County and not released on bail."

"You're just full of information tonight," Kurt teased.

"Just you wait, Hummel. Just you wait."


	5. Where Kurt Rides Along - part 2 of 2

**_A/N: _**_Happy Thanksgiving. I am thankful to be able to write these visions in my head and share them with you. I am thankful and grateful for your willingness to read them. I am thankful for the friends I have made through writing fanfiction. I am thankful that a little over five years ago, a small group of students insisted that I watch this "great new show" and found a youtube clip of Kurt Hummel and the McKinley Titans Football team dancing to Single Ladies. I've been hooked since._

**_Warnings: _**_Police work is often difficult and often ugly. Kurt is about to be exposed to this first hand. I've tried to keep the storyline accurate and realistic - while maintaining a T rating._

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters and this is not for profit_

* * *

**_20:00 hours_**

Stomach growling, Blaine backed his police cruiser into a parking space in the strip mall that had seen better days and shut the engine off, before radioing in to dispatch. "Control, 3 Paul Twenty-One."

"3 Paul Twenty-One, go ahead."

"Control, please log me 10-7D."

"10-4, 3 Paul Twenty-One. Enjoy your dinner."

"Thank you, control."

Unbuckling his seat belt, Kurt tucked the laminated chart Blaine had given him back above the sun visor on his side of the car. It had been educational to read over all the types of calls the deputies responded to and he hadn't had to interrupt Blaine to ask for a translation of the 'lingo'.

For his part, Blaine just naturally seemed to explain everything he was doing while he was doing it. When Kurt commented on this, Blaine had explained that he'd worked as a Field Training Officer for several years, and he often started out the recruits fresh out of the sheriff's academy by doing the same thing.

Blaine finished typing something into his laptop computer and shut the cover prior to looking over at Kurt. "We should have about thirty minutes for dinner – uninterrupted. It's pretty slow tonight so far, but I just want you to know that if we get a call, we're gonna have to get up and go. So I recommend using the bathroom first thing."

After they climbed out of the patrol car, Kurt asked, "Does that mean you have to dine and dash sometimes?"

Chuckling, Blaine shrugged. "We don't exactly call it that – but yes, I have had to get up mid-meal and book it to a scene."

Kurt raised an eyebrow as Blaine reached the door to a tiny restaurant and pulled the door open. "So what happens then?"

"It depends," Blaine replied honestly. "If it's something that will clear quickly, we'll ask dispatch to call and let the restaurant know we'll be back to pay later that evening or the next day. Sometimes dispatch pays over the phone and we pay the dispatchers back. A lot of times we eat at the same places, so they know us, so it isn't a problem."

Blaine held the door open to Lucky Gardens Chinese restaurant, his stomach tightening at eh delicious smells that assaulted him. After they'd used the bathroom, Blaine ushered Kurt over to a round table with the other deputies. "Guys, this is Kurt. Kurt, this is Nathan, Casey and you already know Dave."

Removing his coat and draping it over the back of his chair, Kurt slipped into the seat between Blaine and Nathan after shaking everyone's hands. Blaine had already poured tea into the small porcelain cup next to his plate. Almost immediately, the wait staff began bringing out piles of steaming food.

As they all began scooping up the food onto their plates, Nathan asked Kurt, "How's it going so far?"

"The ride along?" Kurt confirmed. "It's been really interesting watching Blaine deal with people. I mean, I'm not sure what I expected … but I don't think I expected so much of his job to be mediating the public, if that makes sense."

"Oh, it totally does. So what have you done so far?" Nathan used his fork to stab several dumplings and force them onto his plate.

"We successfully served a $35,000 bench warrant. Went to jail – where I wasn't allowed in – which, for the record, I'm totally fine with," Kurt laughed with the deputies. "Then, not too long after we left the jail, we were waiting at this double left hand turn signal, and this guy three cars up decides to completely run the red light and make a U-turn, from the outside turn lane."

"Moron," muttered Dave, helping himself to some more of the beef noodles.

"I know. So Blaine turns on the lights and siren, and the other drivers are all giving him thumbs up and we follow him and pull him over so Blaine can give him a much deserved ticket."

Nathan looked pointedly between Kurt and Blaine. "Okay, but isn't that pretty much how the two of you met?"

Kurt pointed his chopsticks at Nathan. "Yes, and no. Because **_I _**was the idiot who was in too much of a hurry to wait behind the train gates. And as Deputy Anderson _often_ tells me, that was the stupidest choice I ever made … although the end result has been pretty incredible."

Watching Blaine blush in front of his friends made Kurt happy.

"Well, don't let anyone on the force give you crap for how you met, Kurt," offered Casey. "I met my wife at an accident scene. Chain reaction rear-ending. She was the third of five cars. Best accident report I ever took."

"Then there's Dave's story," Nathan added pointedly.

Dave flushed bright red, sputtering, "That's so unfair."

Nathan placed a hand over his heart and batted his eyes, "Come on Karofsky, it's straight out of a romance novel. Cop meets firefighter. Bids on said firefighter at a charity auction. Wins date with firefighter. They fall in loooove. Get married, and live happily ever after with two kids."

"Three," Dave said quietly, using his chopsticks to scoop more noodles into his mouth.

Everyone looked over at Dave in shock.

Grinning slyly, he shrugged with one shoulder. "She'll be here in late May. The boys are so excited to have a sister this time." He seemed to withdraw into himself after saying that.

"And how do you feel about it, Dave?" Kurt asked cautiously.

Dave looked up, a grin splitting his face. "Totally excited. And freaking intimidated. What do I know about girls? _Christ_."

"It's just indoor plumbing instead of outdoor," Nathan scoffed. He wasn't quite fast enough in ducking as Dave bounced a candied pecan off of his head.

After everyone had congratulated Dave on his good news, Nathan turned his attention back to Kurt. "Anything else happen?"

"We got called to transport a shoplifter. Well, there were two, but one was an adult and the other was a juvenile – so when Blaine asked which we would take, I said the juvenile, because I'd already been to jail once today."

Laughter filled the table once again.

"Didn't you guys also respond to a 415?" asked Casey, dishing more steamed rice onto his plate.

Blaine leaned over to Kurt, "A 415-"

Kurt held up his finger. "A 415 is a fight. In this case, it was a 415v – victor – for a verbal fight. I was paying attention, _Deputy_ Anderson. You did say there would be a test," he sassed, snagging one of Blaine's eggrolls off his plate and biting into it with a smirk.

"So proud," Blaine teased, pretending to wipe away to tear.

"It was a disagreement between a teenager and his parents," Kurt explained to the others. "They … didn't agree with some of the choices he was making in terms of dress and hair color."

* * *

_This time Blaine didn't need to look at the house numbers to find the address of the family dispute. The combatants were all standing in the driveway shouting at each other while the neighbors looked on from their porches and windows. Pulling to the side of the road, Blaine put a hand on Kurt's arm. "Just sit here for a couple minutes. I'll wave you over when it's clear."_

_Kurt murmured, "Yeah, okay," before rolling down the window just a smidge so he could hear better._

_As soon as Blaine exited the vehicle the father came storming up. "Thank God you're here, Officer. I need you to haul Jensen to juvenile hall," he shouted waving his arm back towards a young man with exceptionally colorful hair and clothes. "There is no way he's welcome to live in this house acting the way he is. We have rules and expectations. His mother and I didn't raise him to be like this."_

_"I see, Mr. -?" Blaine kept his tone firm but calm._

_"Billings. Richard Billings. My wife was the one who called 911."_

_"Okay. Mr. Billings, I'd like to hear more about what's going on, but I'll need you to lower your voice, thank you."_

_Mr. Billings looked a bit sheepish. "I apologize, Officer. I'm just … just so …"_

_"I can see you're upset, sir. I need to check on your wife and son. Please stay here. I'll be back in just a moment to talk to you." _

_Blaine walked over to the young boy who looked all of fourteen. The clothes the kid was wearing reminded Blaine of that older brother from The Brady Bunch, during the episodes when he was trying to be 'hip' or 'groovy'. Far out, man. Wide bottomed olive colored jeans with a paisley-print plum colored shirt. _

_The outfit clashed rather violently with his hair – hair as colorful as the rainbow jello his grandmother used to make._

_"I'm Officer Anderson. You're Jensen?"_

_The young man crossed his arms. "Yes. Are you even going to listen to my side? Or are you just going to take his side and arrest me?"_

_Blaine maintained eye contact with Jensen. "I'm going to listen to what __**everyone**__ has to say and see if we can resolve this without further yelling. Jensen, are you hurt at all? Physically, I mean."_

_Jensen shook his head violently from side to side before he swiped his lengthy bangs off his forehead._

_"You need a haircut and you can change your hair back to its original color or so help me, I'll allow your father to shave you bald, Jensen," the mother began to yell._

_"Mom, just shut up!" Jensen screamed, his cheeks flushing a bright pink._

_Putting himself physically between the mother and her son, Blaine shifted his position each time Jensen tried to look around him. "Look, I'd like to move you to the back of my cruiser-"_

_"GOD, this is just perfect! You're just like them! You said you'd listen to me and now-"_

_"AND NOW," Blaine raised his voice over the boy's tantrum. When he saw he had the boy's full attention, he continued, "and now, what I'd like to do is have you go sit in the back of the cruiser. I'd have you sit in the front, but I have a ride-along tonight who's already in the passenger seat. All I want to do, Jensen, is give you __**all**__ a few minutes to calm down."_

_"Fine. Sorry," the teen muttered begrudgingly._

_Blaine pulled the back door to the cruiser open and allowed Jensen to flop down onto the uncomfortable plastic seat. "Jensen? I'd like to introduce you to Kurt, my ride-along. Kurt? This is Jensen. I'm just having him sit here while I go speak with his parents."_

_After Blaine moved away from the cruiser, Kurt spun in his seat and stared at Jensen for a moment. "Did you color your hair yourself, or have it done?"_

_Jensen startled at the question. "I … I did it myself," he admitted quietly._

_"I know a whole bunch of women – and a few guys – who would pay good money to have someone work color like you've done," Kurt said. "And I realize you don't know me from anyone, but I do have to say, while I respect your fashion choices – we might want to work more on not having our hair clash with our clothing."_

_Jensen raised his hand to his bangs, touching them self-consciously. "You're not from around here," Jensen observed._

_"Well, kinda. I'm from Lima, born and raised. Until I graduated high school. Then I moved to New York City."_

_"Wow. So what the hell are you doing back here?" Jensen seemed surprised that the question came out of his mouth as he immediately tried to backtrack, "I'm sorry. That was too personal."_

_Kurt laughed. "That was hardly personal. My dad was hospitalized. My family needed help running his business. I didn't even think twice. Hell, I didn't even think once. I took a leave of absence and came home. That was almost six months ago."_

_"Is your dad still sick, then?"_

_"No. No, he's better. Retired now and watching entirely too much television," Kurt said with a smile._

_"So then why are you still here? In Lima?" Jensen was incredulous._

_Kurt bit his lower lip. "It's where my heart is," he answered simply._

* * *

_Blaine was digging deep, trying to find his last reserves of patience while dealing with Mr. and Mrs. Billings. "Look, Mr. Billings, I realize you are very frustrated with your son right now, but as I keep saying, sending him to juvenile hall isn't an option. He hasn't committed any crimes to warrant an arrest." Well, outside his crime against fashion, Blaine thought to himself._

_The evening chill cut through him, so he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket. "Are you concerned with the friends your son is hanging out with? Are you worried he might be getting into drugs or alcohol? Have his grades dropped recently?" Blaine gave the parents a pointed look._

_Mr. Billings glanced over at his wife before returning his gaze to Blaine. "Um, no. No to all of it. He's been a good kid. But recently …" his voice petered out._

_Blaine nodded his understanding. This wasn't the first time he'd had a conversation like this with a parent over their teen's behavior. "Recently he's not quite the little boy you've known. He's trying to find a way to express himself – to make himself stand out a little from everyone else. I get it. I mean, I'm not a parent myself, but I'd like to think that if my son came home with … hair as colorful as Jensen's – I'd probably be shocked too."_

_"We're just trying to instill in him a sense of decency. Clearly your parents did the same for you. You can understand that, right?" Mr. Billings seemed almost desperate to have Blaine agree with him._

_Taking a deep breath, Blaine let it out slowly. "Mr. Billings, my parents enrolled me in boarding school when I entered the sixth grade so they could travel overseas without worrying about who would watch me. The man I am today, that's a result of the amazing support I received at Dalton Academy, from my teachers, my guidance advisors, and my peers."_

_"Looking back now, as an adult, I can tell you the biggest component to my success in life was the feeling of love and support __**they**__ managed to engender in me. I didn't get that from home. I still don't. My parents hate my career choice. They feel I've wasted my education and I'm wasting my life doing what I love."_

_"Mr. and Mrs. Billings, I'm not a family counselor and I can't tell you how to parent your son, because that's your responsibility. But what I know is … I haven't spoken to my parents in over two years. The schism between us started __**long**__ before I chose law enforcement as a career. Whether he realizes it or not, Jensen really does need his parents in his life. Talk to him. __**Listen**__ to him. And as much as you can, remind him every day that you love and support him – maybe not his choices, but __**him**__."_

_Blaine didn't have much more to say, but what was left went out his head when Jensen and Kurt came walking up the driveway._

_Unprompted, Jensen stood in front of his parents, and voice shaking, began to speak. "I'm sorry I yelled. I'm sorry I didn't talk with you before I … did my hair. I'd …" he hesitated and looked over at Kurt, who nodded gently, before continuing. "Can … can we go inside and … talk?"_

_As they watched Jensen lead his parents back into the house, Blaine nudged Kurt with his shoulder. "Thanks."_

_"You're welcome?" Kurt brushed his fingers against Blaine's. "Mostly I just listened. It's weird seeing some near-vision of myself fifteen years later. Although I never would have done that to my hair."_

_Blaine slung his arm around Kurt's shoulders. "No, I don't imagine you would have." When they reached the patrol car, Blaine opened the door for Kurt. "Did I ever tell you about the extensive bow tie collection I accrued during high school?"_

_"Do tell, Blaine Anderson. Do tell."_

* * *

By the time he finished relating the story, Kurt was breaking apart a fortune cookie to read the message inside. "Truthfully, I never would have imagined something like that going down as a normal part of Blaine's job." He shifted in his chair to look more directly at Blaine, lacing their fingers together under the table.

"Watching you defuse that situation was beautiful. I'm not sure you realize how much everything you do affects others – but I know Jensen has a better chance of finding the support he's going to need thanks to you."

Blaine shrugged, embarrassed to be at the center of attention because of all of this. "Remind me to call your dad later," he said, pulling out his wallet and handing several bills over to Dave.

"Any particular reason?" Kurt asked.

"To say thank you."

* * *

**_0042 hours_**

The radio let out three piercing tones before the dispatcher's voice intoned, "All available units, we have a report of an 11-80 off of Rural Route 4 near Kingsley Road. RP's daughter called to report the 10-50, but was cut off. RP has been unable to reach the daughter since."

"3 Paul Twenty-Three, responding in 15, Code 2."

"3 Paul Twenty-Six, responding in 20, Code 2."

"3 Paul Twenty-One, responding in 10, Code 2."

"Copy that Twenty-Three, Twenty-Six, Twenty-One. We have an ambulance unit responding to your location as well as fire."

Blaine slowed the cruiser down enough that he could make a quick U-turn in the empty street before pushing down on the gas pedal. "It's a possible traffic accident with major injuries. We'll be the first ones on scene. I need you to stay in the car until I call you out, understood?"

"Um, yeah, of course Blaine."

"If you see blood are you going to pass out or get sick?" Blaine was all business.

"No."

"Okay, there's a first aid bag in the trunk. The first thing I have to do is assess the safety of the situation and the condition of the people involved. If it's safe, I may have you bring out the first aid bag – it's red with a giant white cross on it, so you're not going to miss it. But that's if it's safe. So stay here in the car until I say so."

"Yeah, I got that part, Blaine."

"It's important, Kurt."

"I get it, Blaine."

Blaine chewed on his lower lip, fearing in his heart that Kurt really didn't get 'it' yet. Well, they'd both find out sooner rather than later.

A few short minutes later, Blaine located the accident scene.

Gruesome didn't begin to describe it.

"Control, 3 Paul Twenty-One. 10-97.

"10-4. 3 Paul Twenty-One, on scene."

"Control, please call out the coroner and have the responding ambulance units go Code 3."

"10-4. 3 Paul Twenty-One, EMTs request a count of the victims."

"Control, at least four. Going to assess the situation now. Stand-by."

Swallowing around his dry throat, Blaine didn't look at Kurt as he opened his door. "Just … just stay here, babe."

Blaine had positioned the cruiser so that Kurt couldn't look directly at the accident scene, so he had to crane his neck to watch Blaine walk closer to what was left of the car. There was a pedestrian walkway over the four-lane road. Near the bottom of the walkway, a small four-door sedan had hit the retaining wall meant to protect any walkers from injury. It was at least ten or twelve feet off the road.

From the little Kurt could see, the car had compacted like an accordion.

"Control, what's the ETA on fire? We have two who need immediate transport – but they'll need to be cut out of the car. Is Lifeflight an option?

"Negative, 3 Paul Twenty-One. The helicopter's grounded for maintenance. ETA on ambulance is 3; fire is 8."

Kurt shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and slid down in the seat. He still didn't believe in God –but if there was some higher power, he certainly hoped the victims in the car didn't suffer – weren't suffering now.

The door flung open and Blaine sat down long enough to begin typing frantically on the laptop. He was holding two wallets and a purse. That was all Kurt was able to process before Blaine leapt back out and began fumbling in the trunk for something. Then he was back once more.

"Stay,"

"Here," Kurt finished for him.

Kurt did stay in the patrol car for a very long time. He watched as the other sheriff deputies arrived and then the ambulances and fire trucks. It all seemed to be quite a bit of equipment and man-power for one tiny car. Eventually though, Kurt couldn't sit still any longer. Cautiously, waiting for someone to yell at him to get back in the vehicle, Kurt emerged and stood near the hood of the cruiser.

It was then the full impact of the car crash hit him.

It was one of those moments where the brain has difficulty processing the visual input, because the input is just so … horrifyingly different.

Before it had met the wall, the car had clearly been a four-door. Only now, the back seats had violently become the front seats. Shutting his eyes tightly, Kurt knew – knew – that whoever had been in those front seats hadn't made it.

_Fuck_.

The firefighters had managed to rip the roof off and they'd extracted one person – just a teenager from the looks of it, and were working on getting a second person out. Kurt could see the remnants of a nice dress on the young woman being strapped to a gurney, and the dress shirt and tie on the young man still trapped. Just a couple of kids out for a Valentine's dinner.

_Fuck._

In the time he'd worked for his dad's shop, he'd towed a crushed car or two. But he'd never really thought about how they got that way. Not anything as violent as this.

Blaine was busy writing down information that would be needed for the accident report, when Dave Karofsky grabbed his elbow lightly. "Look, Anderson, I don't want to tell you what to do … but Kurt's watching all of this." Subtly he jerked his head back towards the police cruisers.

"Fuck!" Blaine blurted. "I told him to stay in the car." His head whipped around to find Kurt staring at the wreckage, tears streaming down his face.

"Well, Hummel's always marched to his own drummer. Maybe you could have someone come pick him up? You _know_ we're not clearing this scene before daylight."

"Thanks, Dave."

"Anytime, Blaine."

Kurt was so engrossed with the activities of the men and women around him that he didn't realize that Finn had driven up and parked next to where he was standing. It wasn't until Finn wrapped an arm around his shoulder that Kurt startled back to reality.

"Finn! What are you doing here?" Kurt asked, stunned.

Finn held up a hand, waving at both Blaine and Dave Karofsky. "Blaine called and asked me to pick you up."

"But why would he do that?"

"Because he loves you," Blaine said softly walking up behind Kurt and Finn. "Because I love you and you don't need to sit and watch all this. We're not gonna finish until way after shift, babe. I want Finn to take you over to your dad's place."

Kurt looked disappointed at being sent away. "He can take me to my place. It's closer to his house anyway."

"No!" Blaine argued. "Finn, you take him to your dad's place, understood. Kurt, you've been watching us process this scene for over an hour. This is … bad stuff. Baby, please go home to your dad's place, so if and when you wake up, I don't have to worry about you being alone. I'll at least know that your dad and Carole are there."

Ever aware he was wearing protective gloves, Blaine just leaned closer to Kurt, pressing their foreheads together but not taking Kurt in his arms like he most wanted to. "Please,

Kurt, please do this for me. Please," he whispered.

"Alright. I love you. Stay safe," Kurt answered just as softly.

"Love you, too."

Blaine brushed their lips together, then pulled back to look at Finn. "Thanks for doing this, man. Sorry to haul your ass out of bed at three in the morning."

"No worries. You're taking good care of my little brother, so we're square."

Blaine shot a glance at Kurt, "I thought you were older than Finn."

"I am," Kurt huffed out, faking annoyance.

Shaking his head, Blaine smiled wanly. "I'll be over as soon as I can."

"I'll be waiting."

"See that you do."

* * *

**_February 15_****_th_**

**_0900 hours_**

Blaine let himself into the Hummel's home, toeing off his shoes in the hallway and peeking into the kitchen. Waving at Burt and Carol, he smiled in appreciation when Burt just pointed to the ceiling, letting Blaine know where Kurt was. He took the stairs that led to Kurt's former bedroom, which served as the guest room now. Cautiously he opened the door, smiling to himself when he found Kurt sprawled out across the bed, his left arm wrapped tightly around a pillow – a pillow, because Blaine wasn't there.

Yanking his t-shirt over his head, Blaine tossed it on the dresser that sat against the wall before removing his sweat pants. If they'd been at one of their places, Blaine would have foregone his boxers too, but since this was Kurt's parents' house, this was as naked as Blaine was willing to get. He might be a deputy sheriff, but that didn't stop him from knowing that Burt Hummel wasn't a man to mess with.

Tugging the pillow from Kurt's arms, Blaine slid between the sheets and into Kurt's arms. In the course of his job, Blaine saw many horribly disturbing things. In the six months since he'd taken Kurt out for breakfast, Blaine had almost forgotten how he used to decompress after the '_bad'_ days. He had adrenaline junkie co-workers who jumped out of airplanes or climbed mountains without safety gear; others chose to forget their days in a bottle.

Like a lucky few, Blaine had come to realize that solace could be found in the arms of the man he loved without reservation.

"Time is it?" Kurt managed to snuffle out from the pillow his face was buried in.

"Little after nine. Sorry, babe. Didn't mean to wake you," Blaine whispered, dropping kisses along Kurt's neck as he pulled his boyfriend closer.

"Haven't been able to sleep. Not really. I think I dozed off a couple times. Vaguely remember something about blue cats wearing red boots. Pretty sure that was a dream," Kurt murmured sleepily as he opened his eyes. Reaching up he ran his fingers through Blaine's curls. "Do you need to talk about it?" he asked with concern.

"No," Blaine answered immediately. Kissing Kurt softly, he pulled back and stared into the swirling blue-green depths of Kurt's eyes. "Unless you need to talk about it. I've … I've learned to deal with stuff like we saw tonight. I guess, from the outside, it must make me seem cold … indifferent."

"I don't think that at all, Blaine Anderson," Kurt answered emphatically. "And I'd like to think I know you pretty well by now."

Blaine dropped his gaze and smiled shyly. "Yeah." He laid back down in the bed and stared up at the ceiling.

Kurt snuggled into Blaine's side and traced random patterns on his chest and stomach with his fingertips. "Did they … did any of them make it?"

Swallowing hard, Blaine shook his head. "It's one of the hardest things about this job – seeing lives wasted like that. So much potential – just … gone. Gone because of stupid choices. One of my favorite teachers at Dalton had a sign up behind his desk that read: 'You have freedom of choice. You don't have the freedom to choose your consequences.' Every time I roll up on a scene like tonight's, I hear his voice in my head."

They were quiet for a long time, allowing the stresses of the evening to melt away. Finally, Kurt asked, "What are our plans for today, anyway?"

Considering for a moment, Blaine finally answered truthfully. "I'd like to catch some sleep here, since we're already undressed and in a bed. Then we could move downstairs, watch some t.v. with your dad. Nap on his couch until he starts throwing peanuts at us - _again_. Placate him by ordering pizza and allowing him a slice of pepperoni. Then go home and have a fine dinner of Cheerios and toast by the fireplace, after which I'd like to spend a couple hours worshiping your body with my own."

Kurt hummed low in his throat. "Like the way you think. If I _choose_ do follow your plan, what do you think the _consequences_ might be?"

Blaine snorted. "You don't get to choose the consequences, remember? How hard and how often you come is my decision. Where we make love and in what positions – my decision. The pleasant ache you'll feel in your muscles, and other places, all day on Sunday – part of those consequences of choosing to be well-loved by your boyfriend."

Kurt replied by kissing Blaine slowly and deeply. "I always feel well-loved by you. Thank you for taking care of me. Thank you for sharing a bit of your world with me last night. Thank you for being brave enough to do what you do."

"I love you, too. So much," whispered Blaine before tugging Kurt into place across his body. It wasn't long before both of them were sound asleep.

* * *

When Burt came up to check on them several hours later, they were still asleep, huffing out deep breaths, bodies wrapped around each other. It filled Burt's heart with so much joy to see Kurt had finally found someone worthy of his heart. After retrieving a throw blanket from the linen closet, he carefully covered his two 'boys' and went downstairs to make some popcorn.


	6. Where Kurt Chooses Life Without Parole

**A/N: **To my dear readers, I hope this finds you well. As I'm sure it is for many of you, December is an exceptionally busy time. I've stolen a few moments to put this part of chapter five together. I wanted to give you something before I completely fall off the grid over the next ten days. For those of you waiting ever so patiently for updates on my other two works in progress, _He's the Cheer Captain_ & _Shove Me Harder_ – I promise you'll see movement before the new year – on both, as well as the conclusion to _The Handcuffing of Kurt Hummel_.

**Disclaimer:** The characters are not mine and this is not for profit – just for entertainment.

* * *

**Chapter 5: Where Kurt Chooses Life Without Parole**

_-The beginning of Summer-_

"Why are you angry with me?" demanded Kurt, throwing his arms out in frustration. Half empty boxes were strewn over the hardwood floors and the smell of fresh paint lay heavy in the air. Though they had _physically_ moved in to the house over Memorial Day weekend, it was halfway through June and they were still unpacking – trying to find spots for their combined items.

Blaine inhaled loudly through his nose. "I'm not … _angry_. I'm _frustrated_."

"Semantics!" Kurt spat back.

"It isn't for me," Blaine said tightly. "I'm **not** angry with you. I just feel like … like you're making all the decisions about … about _everything_. And I …" Blaine hesitated, running his hand through his hair, trying to find the words that would help Kurt understand the way he was feeling without upsetting his boyfriend further. "I just thought that we'd make these decisions _together_. That we decided not to move into _your_ apartment or _my_ condo because _we_ wanted to start something new. _Together_."

Blaine lifted the bottom of his t-shirt to wipe the sweat off of his forehead. They hadn't bothered to turn on the air conditioning in the house because their plan had been to move the rest of the boxes and furniture in from the garage. "Can I … can I just let you know how I feel? Like, can you just _listen_ to me and try to hear me?"

"_Shit_, are we in counseling right now? Is this something you saw on _Dr. Phil_?" Kurt knew his words were harsh, but he'd gone into defensive mode when he realized Blaine wasn't happy with the decorating decisions he'd made. Seeing the subtle tightness around Blaine's mouth and Kurt recognized he'd wounded Blaine.

Pressing his lips into a thin, white line, Blaine stared at a point over Kurt's shoulder for several long moments before he made his decision. "Fine. Whatever. Do what you want – what you feel is best," he said quietly. Gathering up the empty cardboard boxes, Blaine balanced them on his head and left the room.

When he returned, he picked up a box of picture frames he'd packed, and tossed the two he'd put on the fireplace mantle in as well. Ignoring the sound of glass breaking, he tossed a quilt his grandmother had made him over the top. As he went to leave the room again, Kurt reached out to grasp Blaine's wrist.

"Blaine," Kurt murmured, his tone filled with regret.

"Don't. Just – don't," Blaine muttered. "It's not worth fighting over." Tugging, he pulled away from Kurt and wandered down the hallway to their bedroom where he had every intention of tossing this box into the back of his closet, where it could be forgotten.

Deflated, Kurt collapsed down into the couch, tugging a decorative throw pillow into his lap. Since school was out for the summer, Finn had agreed to cover for Kurt for a few days at the tire shop so Kurt could get some painting and unpacking done. He'd thought Blaine would be excited to realize there was color on the walls, and their artwork and photographs had been hung.

Appearing in the doorway, Blaine clutched the strap of his gym bag in his hands. "You have things under control here. I'm going to go to the gym before work. I'll see you tomorrow morning." Blaine's voice was measured – holding back the myriad of emotions he felt he couldn't express in front of the man he loved.

"Blaine-" Kurt started to stand up.

Waving him back down, Blaine shook his head. "What you've done so far … it looks really sharp." Blaine turned and walked out the front door.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Kurt reached for his cell phone, hitting the second speed dial number programed. Three rings later, his dad's comforting greeting washed over him. "Dad? I really screwed things up," Kurt admitted, his eyes filling with tears.

* * *

After spending over an hour boxing and lifting weights, Blaine had showered and left the gym feeling slightly less tense. He was still upset that Kurt wasn't willing to hear him out. When they'd discussed swapping his condo with Burt and Carole for their home, a major plus was the idea that they'd be moving into a property that was new to them, that they could make _theirs_.

So it had taken him by surprise to walk in to the house and find that Kurt had paid to have hardwood floors installed, and the walls painted – all without consulting Blaine. It all looked terrific. But that wasn't really the point. All Blaine wanted was to have a voice in the process. And maybe a picture frame holding a snapshot of Blaine and his closest friends from his days at Dalton Academy on the fireplace mantle.

All things being equal, Blaine meant what he'd said; it wasn't something they needed to be fighting about. There were way bigger problems in life than what color to paint the walls of a house – or where to put a throw rug. Blaine certainly helped people deal with their problems every day while at work.

Shaking his head to clear it, Blaine glanced out the windshield of his patrol cruiser in time to watch a dark blue Toyota Camry – a late 90s model given the body type – blow through a four-way stop sign while making a right turn. Sighing, Blaine keyed his microphone, letting dispatch know that he'd be initiating a car stop and requesting the license plate be run through the system.

The driver didn't attempt to speed away, but neither did he, or she, pull to the side of the road. "Control, 3 Paul Twenty-One. Still attempting to initiate 11-50 of blue Toyota Camry. Request unit to fill, code 2."

"10-4, 3 Paul Twenty-One. 3 Paul Twenty-three to fill in three. 3 Sam One requests your speed."

"Control, we're at 25 miles per hour." Blaine reached over to toggle his siren so it squawked loudly. Lifting the microphone to his mouth, Blaine announced through the loud speaker, "Driver. Pull over. Pull to the side of the road, now."

That seemed to have the appropriate effect as the driver drifted to the right side of the road and parked. Checking one last time if any information had been returned on the license plate of the car, Blaine climbed out of his cruiser, walking carefully towards the other vehicle. As he reached the trunk of the Camry, Blaine saw Dave Karofsky pull up across the street.

Giving Dave a nod of acknowledgement, Blaine walked up to the driver's window and stared down at a 9 millimeter Glock pistol pointing straight at his chest.

* * *

Too depressed to continue unpacking after Blaine left, Kurt decided to go to work at the tire shop. There was always something needing his attention. After changing into his coveralls, Kurt grabbed a work order and wandered down the bay, spinning a wrench in his hand, seeking out the truck needing its fluids checked.

The work distracted him from the fight he'd had with Blaine – and he found himself singing along with the radio, and Finn. The afternoon hours passed swiftly this way, and Kurt enjoyed the feeling of accomplishment as he was able to pass three tickets back to their office assistant, Erika so she could call the owners to let them know their vehicles were ready to be picked up.

A soft tone preceded Erika's young voice over the loud speaker. "Mr. Hummel? Line two is for you. Said it was urgent."

Kurt extracted himself from the engine of a large Chevy Suburban, and walked to the wall where an older model cordless phone hung. It was ancient technology, and he felt ridiculous holding the enormous phone, but it refused to die – so they kept it out here, where things had to be sturdier. Pushing the button to accept the incoming call, Kurt leaned back into the engine cavity.

"Hummel Tires and Lube, Kurt Hummel speaking," he answered, voice echoing. When no one responded, Kurt sighed and tried one more time. "Hello? Is anyone there? I'm going to hang up now."

"Kurt?"

Kurt barely heard Blaine's trembling voice. Stomach clenching with anxiety, Kurt stepped down from the SUV and pressed the phone closer to his ear while nearly walking quickly to the office, where he could close the door and shut out the noises from the shop. "What's wrong, Blaine?"

For several long seconds all he could hear was Blaine's harsh breaths as if he were fighting for control of his emotions. "I need you to do something for me," he answered tightly.

"Anything," Kurt replied immediately, throwing a towel in Finn's direction to get his attention. "I'm here." He waved Finn over, feeling in his gut that he'd need his brother's support through whatever this was.

Finn followed Kurt into their dad's old office and shut the door, raising his eye brows at Kurt.

Kurt mouthed 'Blaine' in explanation as he tried to understand what Blaine was saying to him.

"I … I … fuck, here."

Blaine's voice grew quieter and Kurt realized he'd passed the phone to someone else. "Can you tell him what I need?" were the last words Kurt heard before another man's voice came on the line.

"Um, hello?"

"Hi?" offered Kurt.

"Is this Kurt?"

"Yes."

"Kurt, it's Dave Karofsky."

Even Dave sounded different – more tense than when they'd met in the locker room months before. "What's going on? What does Blaine need? Why's he so upset," Kurt asked in rapid fire succession. He could hear other indistinct voices in the background and could tell when Dave was covering up the phone to speak with someone else.

Clearing his throat, Dave asked, "Kurt, where are you right now?"

His avoidance of Kurt's simple questions had Kurt on edge. "Dave, fuck, just tell me what's going on. Is Blaine alright?"

Finn watched with concern as the color drained form Kurt's face, leaving two bright pink blotches on his cheeks, surrounded by grey flesh.

"Hummel, where are you?" Dave asked again more firmly.

Leaning against the wall, Kurt closed his eyes. "My dad's tire shop, why?"

"Sit down."

"What?"

"Sit the fuck down, Hummel or hand the phone to Finn, because I know he's there."

Wondering how Dave knew, Kurt slid slowly down the wall, to sit on the ground cross legged. "Okay, I'm officially sitting on the ground. Would you like Finn to verify that for you, or can I be trusted," he snapped, fed up with not knowing what was going on.

Dave sighed heavily but got straight to the point. "Blaine was involved in a shooting today. He's fine physically, for the most part."

"What the fuck do you mean he's okay for the most part, Dave. Start at the fucking beginning and explain to me what the hell happened," Kurt's voice was becoming tighter and higher by the moment.

"Blaine initiated a traffic stop. As he walked up, the driver had a gun pointed at him. We think the driver had the safety on when he tried to fire on Blaine. Blaine pulled his weapon and shot and killed the driver. I saw the whole thing go down in the matter of seven seconds. It's on my dash cam."

"Hold on," Kurt whispered to Dave, and dropped the phone into his lap. As tears began to flow down his cheeks, Kurt waved a hand towards Finn. "Can you put it on speaker?" he asked his brother.

"Is Blaine okay?" Finn asked while hitting the buttons that would put Kurt's call on the speaker. Seeing Kurt's nod, Finn sighed in relief. He didn't want to see the devastation that would overwhelm Kurt if he lost Blaine

Once Kurt heard the static of an open line, he tried to line up his questions to ask Dave. "Finn put the call on speaker, Dave. So, you're saying the driver … he actually tried to kill Blaine?" His mouth went dry thinking about what could have happened.

"That's what Blaine says – and I don't have any reason to doubt him. So the reason we're calling is he needs you to bring a change of clothes– a complete change of clothes down to the county jail. They're gonna need to take everything he's wearing into evidence. So don't forget the underwear, socks and a pair of shoes."

"Okay, a change of clothes," Kurt said in monotone.

"You'll be able to take him home from there," Dave continued. "You'll need to park in the county lot next to the jail, go through the security checkpoint. Tell the guys working the desk you need to speak with Sergeant Thomas because you're there to pick up Deputy Anderson. If they are anything less than helpful, you call me immediately, understood?" Dave was all business when instructing Kurt on what to do.

Nodding, although Dave couldn't see him, Kurt was struck by a thought. "Dave, why are they taking him to county jail? Shouldn't I be picking him up at the station?"

Dave's voice was muffled again while he spoke with someone, then suddenly he was back. "Standard procedure. Technically, it's a homicide investigation until the district attorney's office rules it a valid shooting. Blaine will be processed just like any other person who's shot someone. He will, however, be released almost immediately in to your custody."

Swiping the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand, Kurt stood up shakily and crossed the room to stand by the phone. "Can … can I talk with him?"

"The evidence techs have his hands bagged, so he can't really hold the cell phone. I could hold the phone up to his ear for a minute if that would work," offered Dave.

"Please? Thanks, Dave." Kurt picked up the phone and waited. There was a scratching sound and then Blaine's small voice came back on the line.

"Hey," he said quietly.

"I love you, Blaine Anderson," Kurt said, voice full of emotion. "I'll be there soon." There were a thousand other things he desperately wanted to say, but knew they had to keep it short – and assuring Blaine of his love was his most important priority.

"I love you too, Kurt. So much," Blaine murmured. Then the scratching sound came back as Dave removed the phone from Blaine's ear.

"Hummel?"

"Yeah, Dave?"

"He's a huge mess right now. If things get too intense tonight, you need to call me or his sergeant, or the officer crisis team. Make sure you don't leave the jail without that number, understand? I know you two are living together now, but please, please understand that this may be bigger than something the two of you can work out alone. He's not gonna want to ask for help. You may have to do that for him. Please do that for him, Kurt. He's a great cop, and we don't want to lose him."

"Understood, Dave. Is there anything else? Change of clothes, jail, ask for Sergeant Thomas, make sure I have the crisis team's number?"

"Not that I can think of. Kurt? You'll make it through this. Both of you. You're welcome to call us, day or night. Matt's cell number and our house number are in Blaine's phone. Don't hesitate. Don't use the baby as an excuse not to call. Blaine's more important right now – and Josie will fall back asleep eventually."

The corners of Kurt's mouth turned up in a weak smile. "Thanks, Dave. I'll talk to you soon. And I promise to call if I'm the least bit worried about Blaine." Hanging up the phone, Kurt allowed Finn to envelop him in a tight hug.

"Blaine's okay?" Finn asked again, just wanting to reassure himself.

Kurt nodded, rubbing his face against Finn's t-shirt. "He isn't hurt. He's not being taken to the hospital. I need to go and grab his things and meet him down at the jail. Can you call Dad and Mom and let them know what happened? I'll call tonight with an update.

Finn rested his chin on the top of Kurt's head. "Yeah, not a problem. Go handle your stuff, I'll take care of things here. And call me if you need anything at all. Ice Cream. Pizza," Finn began to ramble.

Snorting, Kurt pulled away. "That's what we eat when we're depressed over a boy – or in your case, a girl. I'm not sure it's appropriate for this situation."

"Yeah, well. Just sayin'. Blaine likes his pizza. Tell him I'm … I'm glad he's okay."

"Thanks, Finn. I'll do that." Kurt snatched up his car keys from the hook by the office door. Pausing for a moment, he met Finn's eyes. "Love you. I hope you know that."

Finn's mouth twitched up in a smile. "Love you too."

* * *

Wearing the clothing Kurt had brought him, Blaine walked out into the lobby of the county jail flanked by two Lima Police Department officers. Kurt stood up from the plastic chair he'd been sitting in and made his way over to Blaine. "I'm here to take Blaine home," he announced with more confidence than he actually felt.

The taller officer, who reminded Kurt of that actor who played the lead on that Hawaiian police show, handed Kurt a large manila envelope. "That's got Deputy Anderson's personal affects and some information that you'll want to review regarding officer counseling. His attorney should be in contact with him in the next twenty-four hours. Don't go out of state or out of the country."

"Really?" Kurt raised his eyebrow and stared at the officer.

"Look, we've got to do this by the book. For Anderson's sake."

"Fine. Okay. Understood," Kurt answered testily. "No leaving town. Do you need our address? My phone number?"

"It's okay, Kurt," Blaine interrupted softly. "I already gave them all that information." Turning he shook both officers' hands. "Thanks, guys."

Kurt followed Blaine outside into the night air, gently guiding him towards the visitors' parking lot where he'd parked. Once inside his car, Kurt turned towards Blaine, pushing a curl behind his ear. "I don't know what to say right now, B. I don't want to say something wrong."

Raising his hands to cover his face, Blaine bent over at the waist, shoulders heaving, as he finally gave in to the frightening reality of what he'd faced in the last several hours. The soothing sensation of Kurt's hand gilding over his back, granted him some comfort. What felt like hours later, Blaine sat back up, staring blankly out the windshield.

Swiping his runny nose on the sleeve of his shirt, he gladly took the tissue box from Kurt and blew his nose. "Take me home, please," he rasped out.

"Okay. I can do that," Kurt whispered. Turning on the engine, Kurt reached across the seat, taking Blaine's hand in his own. He pulled out of the parking lot and made his way down to the highway, not letting go of Blaine the entire way home.

Kurt brought Blaine a mug of tea, placing it in his hands as he sat silently on the couch, feet curled under him. The slight tremor in his hands was still there, and the brilliant light that seemed to always be present in Blaine's eyes – had been shuttered. Sitting next to Blaine, Kurt tugged on Blaine's foot, bringing it into his lap where he began to knead gently.

Blaine raised the mug to his lips, feeling the hot liquid travel down to his stomach, though it did little to warm his soul. "You added honey," he commented softly.

Hesitating for a moment, Kurt decided to ask, "Do you … do you want to talk about what happened today?"

Blaine shook his head.

Biting his lip, Kurt let go of Blaine's foot and reached to take Blaine's mug of tea, placing it on the coffee table in front of them. Leaning back, he opened his arms and encouraged Blaine to lay down with him. Blaine buried his face into the crook of Kurt's neck and held on to him tightly. Kissing the top of Blaine's head and temple, Kurt began to hum softly.

Maybe an hour later Blaine began to share the horrifying details of his afternoon patrol – the traffic stop gone horribly wrong. Of seeing the man attempt to pull the trigger of his gun. The split-second realization that but for the gun safety, he'd be dead. Pulling his service weapon and, for the first time, using it on another human being. The subsequent investigation and booking.

Blaine made no effort to wipe the tears from his face and Kurt didn't want to draw attention to them by doing so. "It was automatic. I drew down and fired. He had it pointed right at me. I saw his finger twitch as he tried to pull the trigger."

"Blaine, you did the right thing. You kept yourself safe," Kurt insisted quietly, tightening his hold around Blaine.

"I took someone's life, Kurt," Blaine whispered.

"Someone who was going to kill you, Blaine."

Blaine sighed in frustration. "I get that. I do, Kurt. I'm not dumb."

"I never said that," Kurt explained adamantly.

"I know you didn't. Not dumb," he said more loudly, pulling away to look Kurt in the face. "I'm trying to help you understand my frame of mind. I took that guy's life. Justified or not, he still has a mom who is grieving for him tonight. He still had family and friends who will miss him. I'm responsible for their loss. And I'm not saying I wouldn't do it again, because I know I would. I did exactly what I'm supposed to do. I'm just pissed that I had to do it at all."

Risking rejection, Kurt slowly tipped Blaine's chin up until he could brush their lips together. "You came home safe to me. That's what matters the most to me right now. You're here. Period. I don't know what else to say and I don't know what you need right now, Blaine. I just want you to know that whatever it is, I'm here. Always. Here."

Kurt slid the tip of his tongue across Blaine's mouth, before suckling softly on Blaine's lower lip. Blaine responded by positioning himself between Kurt's legs and framing Kurt's face between his hands. The kiss was deliberate, and wet – but never drifted into the frantic need that often preceded their love making.

Eventually Kurt pulled away slightly to catch his breath. "When I heard your voice … when you called the shop," he said, brushing kisses along Blaine's ear, "I realized that I didn't get a chance to say 'I love you' before you left. Then, when Dave told me you'd nearly been shot," Kurt had to swallow to clear the emotion from his throat. "I don't ever like fighting with you – but if things had ended today … like that."

"They didn't," Blaine insisted firmly.

"I know, but Blaine, you could have …" Finally allowing himself to feel everything he'd been burying inside, Kurt began to sob.

Blaine made soothing sounds, running his hands up and down Kurt's arms and chest. "I'm here, babe. I'm here. I know you're scared and it's just hitting you now."

Fighting for control of his emotions, Kurt sniffled loudly. "I've known. I've known since we started dating that something like this could happen. But I didn't … _know_. I never really realized how it would feel – if you _did_ get hurt, or something else happened. I'm so in love with you, Blaine. I can't imagine my life without you."

Wrapping a leg around Kurt, Blaine slowly turned them on the couch until Kurt was lying on top of Blaine's chest. "I don't want to imagine my life without you either. But here's the thing, Kurt: if something were to happen to me – I'd want you to move on. I mean, after a suitable mourning period, of course," Blaine teased, trying to bring some much needed levity to their emotional rollercoaster.

"Of course."

"Babe? We need to talk about something else. Well, maybe not tonight, but soon," Blaine offered.

"What?"

Blaine took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "If something happened to me – while I was on duty – and they took me to the hospital … well, right now, you don't have any legal standing. As my boyfriend, that is."

Quiet for endless minutes, Kurt gazed into Blaine's eyes, fingers combing through his chocolate curls. "Are you hinting at what I think you are?" he finally asked quietly.

Snaking a hand behind Kurt's neck, Blaine brought him down for a sweet kiss. "Yeah. I am. I think, in a couple days, you and I owe it to each other to sit down and have a heart to heart about whether we want to get married. And if we decide not to, well, then I'd like us to talk to a lawyer about making sure you have as much legal standing as possible to make medical decisions for me."

Kurt chewed on his bottom lip. "Okay. Let's do that. Talk."

"Okay. Because I intend for our proposal to be a lot more romantic than lying on the couch, high on paint fumes, having nearly lost my life," Blaine remarked dryly.

"We could spin it. Our kids will still roll their eyes at our sappiness," Kurt giggled. Deeping his voice, he intoned, "_Your father will try anything to get my attention. Have I ever told you the story of how he almost got himself shot in an effort to encourage me to marry him_?"

Blaine laughed. "Well, if it works … At least now that we've moved we have room on the fireplace for all their Christmas stockings. All _six_ of them."

"_Blaine_," Kurt whined.

"Hey, if other couples get to have more sex when they're trying to conceive, I think it's only fair that we get to do the same. Just keep that in mind."

"I don't think it works the same for us."

"Wanna test that theory?"

"Now?"

"No time like the present."

"Might as well – I don't think we're gonna be able to have sex on the couch with six kids running around."

"Um, hello? That's why we send them to visit Papa Burt and Grandma Carole."

"All _six_ of them?"

"Your dad _loves_ me."

"Not as much as I do."

"I know. I love you, Kurt Hummel."

"Love you too, Blaine Anderson."

* * *

_End Note_: I can pretty much guarantee I won't be updating before Dec. 21 - unless that Quick-Grading-Quill arrives from Hogwarts. Should have shipped it overnight mail instead of by owl. Thank you for reading!


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